#i was like ok sure i guess i can take a break from parade of pasta and sandwiches and vitamins and eat good food

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

HI ITS ME AGAIN good morrow tis i #1murielstan99 im coming out of my anon cage ihtdjvd aaaand uhh for my debut *ushers you into the living room to sit u down on a chair facing a makeshift stage consisting of more chairs a blanket and cardboard boxes. a banner of glued A4 printer paper reads "UR ALL REALLY COOL & I LIKE U THAnk you for tolᵉʳᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍᵐᵉ" in increasingly squished lettering. everything is covered in glitter* ive decided to ✨steal your gig✨ hkhfgdvjgd NO IM SORRY i just wrote you something yippiee!! its tiny i just felt inspired and i got so excited to try it its uh. kinda specific but it came to my head and the ideas just came so fast after i spent like 5 hours on this and didnt even notice them slip by lmao OK ROLL THE CLIP

MC and M6 are walking along a footpath/sidewalk together and along the way they happen upon a whole parade of snails/tiny frogs!!/earthworms/crabs?... (choose your own adventure i guess i cant make up my mind khgxhfx), that came out for a lil sip of the early morning dew, covering up a considerable distance of our duos way. theyre perfectly content to be living their best wet life and blissfully unaware they could get stepped on at any moment when people start to roll out of their houses to carry out their own busy schedules! MC shall categorically not allow that!!! they at first discreetly then with increasing urgency start picking up the little creatures and tossing them to the closest safest space in reach.

Julian: oh worm? yeah hes battled enough leeches in his day to have a good grip on this task. these dont even bite! this is gonna be *grabs snail too hard and hears a crack* OH fu-

some quick healing magic later he decides to observe you for a while at first to figure out the best approach, squatting next to you and fawning over how gentle you are and how many you can fit in your hand. he offers his gloves to you but they dont fit and only make it harder. tries again when he feels more confident and makes his way through the crowded path close behind you

Asra: sits himself down on the grass near you, teases you lovingly about how seriously youre taking your Hero of the Realm job, not letting a single endangered soul go unnoticed under your watch. helps a little, takes a break when his back starts to ache from bending down, gets some more again, feeds some to faust while youre not looking, and one when youre looking for good measure, uses a spell to move them dozens at once to make it faster when the sun starts to get too hot to stay for much longer

Nadia: applauds your devotion to protecting the environment but are you sure this doesnt qualify for an infestation and perhaps we should let natural selection run its course? in the end you spend enough time there for her to get invested too. Doesnt grab any by force, places her hand out and waits for something to catch a ride (in the snail scenario you just stare at her stoically holding the same position while the speciman inches towards her but when it boops into her finger it starts equally slowly turning around (to her hidden but great disappointment))

Muriel: you just give each other a look of determination and nod. commence operation Back in the Wild immediately. youre trained proffesionals, with countless hours of experience on the job gained on your forest patrols while dealing with more worn out mainstream dirtpaths used by a bigger population of people regularly and on early morning trips into town where you have encountered this scenario often enough. you got this covered.

you get your Tools of the Trade (never leave home withoutem) out of your pockets: glass jars magically perma-moistened with water to provide Ultimate💯Slippagge💯Comfort while simultaneously discouraging escape and little thin but blunt sticks (designed & made by the mountain himself) for lifting the snails heads up to get them to peel off the ground so as not to tear their shells off when picking them up/scooping up earthworms to grab them easier and gentler than with your fingers/stopping a tiny frog midjump and blocking it from escaping, try to get it to hop on the stick (thats the hardest one to get right. many attempts and abundant patience needed)/giving a crab the stick to pinch on to neutralize it, pop it in the jar baby

you work with sharp efficiency, well versed in all the techniques and get nearly all the little buddies out of harms way before the sun gets beaming too high & hot and they fry to a crisp. you exchange a fistbump put on your cool sunglasses awesomely and walk off with your back to a bunch of explosions, sick guitar licks and a disembodied "YYYEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!" audible in the distance. 💯💯💯🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥💥⭐🤙🤙🤙🤘🤘life is good

Pasha: well we were kind of in a rush to get to a business meeting, and shes not exactly fond of the pests that she has been locked in eternal combat with in continued efforts to protect her garden, but. aww, they are pretty adorably tiny and helpless! alright lets do this quick! she holds out her skirt/jacket/apron as a container for you to place them into for safekeeping, when you collect them all she promptly YEETS them over onto the nearest green patch as is her signature move when getting intruders off of her prized parsleys & peppers. well. theyre small enough not to take fall damage anyway. you hope

Lucio: he keeps walking, after a minute notices MC lagging back, jogs back to you shouting to ask whats the holdup, proceeds to accidentally step on a snail. after a thorough scolding keeps his distance for a bit, refusing to pick up a single slimy little bastard no thank you hes had enough bad experience with that sort of thing he'll sit this one out. after 20 minutes of grumbling and pacing and watching you pitterpatter to n fro he gets to ground level to observe the critters. why do you even care cmon theyre so teeny weeny. pokes the snails on their lil eyestalks to his great amusement when they squash their faces into themselves. from there we work up to gentle picking up. he retches a lil when he sees you with a whole handful of wormies. hopes to god you didnt see that. you pretend you didnt💕

ok this is slightly less tiny than what i first had in mind and a lot more snail centered than advertised dgkhdtyfg wow you totally cant who i wrote this in mind with no favoritism here no siree anywAy this week was the most fun ive ever had i think. also after writing this i think i can safely say ive decided on a snail familiar for me xDD i can only hope youll enjoy this in some way lmao god i hope theres so weird incomprehensible mistakes i checked it like 27 times i swear ok im clicking send nnnnnnnnnnnnnnoW 321GOAAAHH

@tetsuooooooooooo hi!! I'm so excited to make a new friend!!

And oh. my. WORD, these kinds of scenarios are what makes headcanons some of my favorite fandom things to read! Thank you for sending this, friend, these are priceless and I love them!!! ^.^

The different reaction to the slimy little things, too, it's all too cute for me, and the sunglasses were such a perfect mental image for Muriel's B)

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana crack #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

[quirkle2]

I actually want the scarf backstory.

(warnings in the tags)

ok so here's the sitch, the scarf will come eventually i promise

wars' entire life growing up in castle town was just . frankly shitty GVYEAGIV his family was decently wealthy and they easily had food on the table, but wars' father was a Dick and very much not a good parent

wars' mother on the other hand, was like . basically The World to him. in his little 8-year-old eyes she was Everything and he followed her around everywhere she went and he just adored her. she was always so gentle and patient w him and she made sure to teach him how to be kind above all else. she was the one who kept him from letting the arrogance and just,, general toxic behavior of a LOT of people in castle town influence him

she gives him a big orange scarf that she made at some point, just a little gift for when he's older and able to wear it, but he ends up adoring it so much that he wears it even when he's Tiny and gets very attached to it

his mother sadly passes from illness when wars is 8. him being a little guy and not knowing how to process grief in the slightest, he grasps at the only thing he has left of her and that's the scarf—it becomes a comfort item, smth he can't leave his own room without having it wrapped around him

his father starts training him when he's 9 in hopes of making him a soldier good enough to defend the kingdom. he grows up, doesn't make many friends, and eventually climbs the ranks until around the time his game begins. his father dies in battle before wars is even promoted to captain. all that hard work to make him proud, and he never sees him succeed

impa promotes him and hands him the blue scarf, and he's forced to discard his precious orange one in exchange for the Hero's garb. it feels heavy in his hands, heavy on his shoulders, and even though he's 18 when this happens, he's still far too young to rly understand the scope of what he's being dragged into

months later, he knows. he knows far too well why that scarf had felt so heavy on him when he'd first donned it

i'm sure u can guess where i'm goin w this, but all the Expectations and the High Standards and the Pressure of being the hero sorta just melds w the scarf in his mind, and when he puts that thing on, he feels all of it weigh on him

the people in his kingdom are Critical. they love him and they hate him and they praise him and they mock him and u know how being a Big Figure goes, right? every little thing he does is treated with both cheers and malice and usually, to him, the malice reaches much further

they ridicule him for just abt everything. he stands next to artemis as she's giving a speech, acting as her bodyguard—rly just there for show since he never says much during the parades and the announcements—and people in the crowd r making gestures at him, slitting-throat signs w their hands, yelling and mouthing death threats right at his face. when he returns from a long battle injured and beaten, they accuse him of being a poor choice for a war, not good enough of a fighter, not strong enough; when he returns uninjured, they claim he's slacking and letting his underlings take the hits instead

and during the war ? wars' life is just . ,,,so so bad in the mental health department. he's Completely alone. he lives by himself, he has no friends, and impa and artemis are more coworkers than they are companions, even if they claim to have his back. he's overworked until he can barely walk by the end of the day and every surface of his house is peppered w paperwork that he can never escape. the weight of the responsibilities and the Trauma of the war on top of all that ?

he's close to breaking. he's the type of person that needs and loves and seeks affection and he hasn't gotten that literally since he was 8. he's an extrovert, Loves talking to people, loves Being w people and conversing and joking around and hugging and laughing and he's got none of that—the closest he manages is w his troops, but wars is careful not to get too close for,,, obvious reasons. he doesn't need to lose anybody else

he comes home to an empty house and it's that ? staticy, humming silence when he closes the door and stands there in the dark that he hates the most. he has a couch that nobody has ever sat on except him. he doesn't have enough time to decorate and the furniture and tapestries on the walls weren't even put there by him, it was the people artemis hired that were put in charge of housing him. it all feels utterly Empty, and wars is . pretty much hopeless at some point. just,, trudgin along

but then the war is won. and even though that doesn't relieve him of hero duty, at least the fighting and the death is over with. all their resources r directed to rebuilding, and while it's still a lot of work and everything is far from over and wars is still utterly fucking exhausted, he's just glad there's no more corpses he has to look at

fast forward to lu—he meets the chain, they go on a quest, and for the first time ever, he gets close to people. he starts calling them teammates, then friends, then Family, and since he's technically not on duty while out w the chain, he wears his orange scarf instead. it's lighter than the blue one in many, many ways

at some point when they return to wars' era for a visit and a quick break, wars is not included in that break. they overwork him hard enough for him to get ill and bedridden and legend gets so irate about it that he marches up to artemis and impa and makes a Big scene abt it

he's drawing negative attention to authority, but they bite their tongues until wars is better. when he is better, he is called to the throne room and ordered to "keep legend quiet." wars doesn't like that. stuff happens, arguments ensue, and it eventually gets bad enough to where they threaten to Ban legend from castle town altogether

this is . greatly disturbing to warriors. bc they Know how much ledge means to him. and they would blatantly use that against him, to get their way ? they call themselves his friends, when they'd do smth like that?

he says that if legend is banned, so is he—their Hero

and they agree to that

so warriors is, legally, exiled from castle town—his home. he'd meant it as a bluff, bc he'd half-thought artemis was bluffing—ofc tho, he doesn't regret the decision, not when legend was being wrongfully banned just for sticking up for him. and he spends the next few weeks thinking all that over—the fact that his "friends" would do that to him is appalling, but it suddenly,,, Hits him at some point that when he'd stopped being useful, they just,, threw him out

the second he got too hard to handle and not worth the trouble, they tossed him to the street. some "friends" they were.

when he's exiled, he's given a chance to reflect. and he realizes that it was actually one of the best thing to ever happen to him. he was so unhappy all his life within those goddamn walls, so miserably alone, so utterly hopeless, and then when he'd been sent through those portals and met the chain, the weight of that all seemed to ,, lift, a little

he realizes that even though he's on another adventure and looking death in the face, he's infinitely happier with the chain than he ever would have been back home. the chain loves him, treats him like family, talks to him, jokes w him, hugs him and laughs w him. they don't overwork him to death and they don't stop loving him when he's not at peak performance 24/7. he has people who care. he has people who don't only talk to him when they want smth from him

so he ditches the blue scarf altogether. with it goes his responsibilities and all the stress and depression and crippling loneliness it had housed. he dons the orange one instead, sunshine on his back—he's gained a family and the warmth of that resides in it, the happy, jittery feeling in his chest is what the fabric is practically made of. it reminds him of his mother and happiness and it feels so, so much lighter.

#qktalks #destructokats #tw parent death #parent death tw #tw death threats #death threat tw #i just rly enjoy stories of recovery and things getting better #and the scarves sorta represent that #btw he's still very much attached to the orange one #still treats it like a comfort item. is Always wearing it. gets genuinely jumpy and nervous if he isn’t near it in some way #he's gotten better over the years w it and he Was sorta forced to not wear it during duty back in the war #but that doesn't mean it didn't make his anxiety any less high back then. he Hated not wearing it #at some point he gets a white one just like it (or as close as he can get to his mom's) #and he wears that one when his orange isnt available. the weight on his shoulders helps a bit. makes him feel less naked #important note that i feel like somebody might be miffed abt: #yes i kinda characterize artemis and impa as like . cold and efficient coworkers and nothing more #and that is purely bc i feel absolutely nothing for their characters and how they were written in hyrule warriors GVIAEGYV #i'm sorry for making them Like That i simply don't have an attachment to them At All #please understand im just a little guy #anyway im so sorry holy shit GVIEYAV that was so long and needlessly dramatic. wow i am so cringe #but im so free. actually no im not i could be freer. i could be living in the woods hollering to the moon abt him #in my mind that's what im doing . i assure u #i skipped a good bit from him growing up to his shitty mental health during the war #mostly bc the details aren’t set in stone and they're a bit darker #kinda heavy stuff so i won't go too into it here but just know that he rly struggled and it was Bad #and that makes me sad cuz wars isn't inherently a very depressed person. he was Driven to that level of depression and hopelessness #he's usually very happy. but for a solid chunk of his life it was very hard to stay happy #i also just left stuff out cuz this was long and yaknow . i feel like there's a limit to how annoying u can be and im for sure reaching it #IM AT 29 TAGS . I HAVE ONE MORE TO CONVEY MY LOVE FOR WARRIORS IF THAT HASN'T ALREADY BEEN ESTABLISHED #twists him around like im wringing out a wet dish rag. /i love you i love you i love you i lo

[mxbbadperson]

omega/alpha w/ yandere omega. so they're a couple in their early to mid 40s and the alpha says one day that they need to break up.

bc they're /never/ gonna married. and omega shoots back that the alpha has never asked to marry him! and the alpha says that there's no point bc he (the omega) would never say yes, continues that he's tired, you don't want me, you've never wanted me then leaves

the omega is stunned then gets furious (no! the alpha doesn't get to leave him!! doesn't get walk away and move on!!)

here's the detail of the alpha /did/ ask the omega to marry him and he's done that each year but the omega keeps saying now (and possibly another added detail where the omega tells everyone they're married /anyway/)

the omega being yandere isn't a switch flipped, it's been like… lurking in the back and this brings it out. he sees the alpha as his possession but would never do anything to tie himself to that. like… the omega parades the alpha as his husband but he doesn't really care abt the alpha in any way. just this title of being a wife and the facade of it

hm… did have a thought of the alpha /did/ love the omega in some way which is why the whole thing hurts him. so… no new omega after leaving, just trying to make something of his life

(the omega saying no to the repeated marriage proposals is why him saying that the alpha never asked him to marry him hurts the alpha a lot. i did ask you to marry me! every year! but you're saying that now?)

the omega stalking and ruin the alpha's social standing (he cheated on me and now he's divorcing me :( ) and while there's new omega, the omega is gonna /fabricate/ one (he cheated on me w/ a younger omega and now he's leaving me for him :( )

and all this came abt bc i was thinking of the american 50s as an omegaverse setting. and that's why i made the omega like that. bc he likes the image of it, dresses, seems like a capable homemaker, likes the parties and gossiping but he doesn't want to be married vs the alpaha who wants to get married but doesn't want the facade

the alpha just leaves, doesn't even take anything and goes home. he might resign from his job if he can do that. and i guess i got this idea from also the dynamics in some japanese omegaverse bls. so it's like… the omega has power here? if that makes sense

so the omega feels entitled to the alpha but doesn't want to be connected to him. which is why he's all ha! marry /you/? but still say they're married and gets furious when the alpha leaves, you can't leave /me/ (which the unsaid '/i'm/ the one who gets to leave!')

(w/ possibly the omega's family being richer than the alpha's??)

(i'm adding that and this part as i think abt it. bc it makes sense the omega thinks of this wife facade (pretty dresses, nice house, parties) and can make it happen if he was a certain kind of rich bc an omega who isn't as rich wouldn't care abt that facade at all)

hm… i think he wants the alpha back bc his possession doesn't get to make a choice to leave

(has the element of hiromi/ikki pet/master au) like… the alpha would.. /probably/ be ok w/ being the omega's possession?? (the class inequality thing again bc the alpha might've been like… a servant or something??) but he likes to be cared for in the end

or i guess to put it in a much simpler way, instead of the alpha being abusive and possessive of the omega. it's reserved. so now the thing is to make it sense

not hiromi/ikki exactly! just the idea of their relationship as another part of this idea

the idea of 'my family helped/saved you so now you belong to me' and how massively fucked up that is

it's these stuff cobbled together. it's the omegaverse, it's yandere, it's the american 1950s aesthetic, it's pet/master. so this whole thing can make sens

(like… it could also still work in a modern setting too. but… not sure if the mood would be the same??)

so the omega finally thinks of oh! yes, yes, darling, i'll marry you! (is /that/ what you're throwing a tantrum abt? how silly!)

the alpha refuses. that's what he wanted before yeah but… saying yes doesn't really change anything! *wouldn't really change anything

he'll still be treated like shit. tells the omega that no, he's done, and it's finally. he's leaving, he's resigning and moving away and that's /final/

(thinking of something like the omega having an affair and when his side squeeze approaches him, the omega angrily blows him off. don't /touch/ me, do you think i actually wanted /you/?)

and… add in a lil bit of that daiji/ikki ageswap ikki as daiji's wife au. where the alpha leaves and the omega doesn't know what to w/ himself (if you leave, who will i be?)

(i see him as a yandere but in the cruel way)

the omega finding out that he /has/ put in a part of his identity in this fake-ass relationship. bc while he has ruined the alpha's social standing, he finds himself running after the alpha anyway

it's the yandere clinginess lol (and maybe some hidden affection deep down??? maybe??? idk)

i think if the alpha goes back, he's /forced/ back. bc his family works for the omega's family so the omega leverages that against him

(the omega is basically: entitled rich people, the story lkjhhlkjh)

(the omega's just a spoiled brat who finally has something wrong happen)

hm… but other than that, not sure how it ends!

(hm… if the omega turns to his family would they agree to his demands? bc something tells me that a spoiled brat has equally awful parents)

like… his parents are like 'we gave you an alpha and now you're coming to us after fucking up an easy marriage?? fuck off' and they side w/ the alpha and even says that rumors aren't true so now the omega looks bad??

the parents are like: wha-you didn't even MARRY him???! and you expect us to fix this?? you *you didn't marry him, we can't legally intervene! fuck off!!!

the parents: shut the fuck up and fix this, you're making the family look bad!!! [kicks the omega out] and the omega finally knows the repercussions abt keeping up appearances

the omega is in distress. runs to the alpha for comfort even though this is his fault anyway

the omega probably doesn't change and if he does, only a lil

(the alpha) wants to say no! but if his family is ruined…

then… the omega will have to beg the alpha to take him back

w/out his family what will he do?! maybe… this time the omega is the one that proposes… (the omega either has to change to please the alpha somewhat or he stays his bratty self and goes 'this is /your/ fault i'm in this mess!')

it would be nice to me if the omega proposes (and is less of a brat) (…but being a resentful wife /is/ also fun…) and the alpha might soften just a lil

(…i think me putting in that detail that the alpha actually was in love w/ the omega at some point comes into play)

he might say no! bc now he doesn't want to be married but will go back to the facade

maybe he can gets a business transaction out of it. give me a shit ton of money and give me a small business and it all has to be in my name

and a house too. you can have your affairs and i can have mind (the omega doesn't know what to feel abt /that/) and you can go back to calling me your husband

and… tell your social circle that you were wrong and apologize to me in front of eveyone

acequinz:Oh the omega ain't gonna like the last one at all. acequinz: Maybe he should just kill him. acequinz: Get that yandere out.

the alpha seeing the homicidal glint in the omega's eyes and… after so long… smiles. he's not afraid to die but is the omega not afraid to be ruined?

the alpha still smiling: your family kicked you out. do you think they'll defend you if you're find out to be murderer?

the alpha laughs! runs off laughing

(…wait. the omega being upset abt getting disowned so he calls the alpha and the alpha goes to their house and that's where this showdown goes down???)

the omega catching the alpha! or maybe… the alpha letting himself be caught. he comes close and kisses the omega. says 'don't get blood on the carpet, darling' and doesn't care if he's stabbed. he knows what this looks like! the omega might get the satisfaction of killing him but the alpha will die knowing that the omege will be /ruined/)

in their house that was decorated by the omega, no docarations by the alpha found

will the alpha die? or will he get to saved by someone? (the parents of the omega? or the omega's side squeeze?) (suggested the side squeeze bc it's /very/ hard to reason away why your sorta boyfriend is chasing his "husband" around in his own house lol) *around w/ a knife in his own house)

acequinz: I don't know… acequinz: My brain went completely different direction. The alpha overpowers the omega and it's so much fun. So maybe he takes him back in and tells him to do his best in killing him and try to not be pathetic.

oooooo that IS fun! sees the omega's resentment and thinks it's funny. the alpha is still sad but he finds something amusing abt this

…thinking of the omega flipping them over and lifting the knife higher and the alpha expects to be stabbed but the knife lands beside his head and the omega tears off the alpha's clothes

the omega shoving down his underwear and lifting up his dress skirt. he fucks the alpha, picking up the knife and holding it to the alpha's neck. the alpha smiles, coos out a sickly sweet 'darling'

the alpha grins, wide and fanged. 'darling! darling! you're all /mine/, darling!' and he laughs. the omega /howls/ as he comes bc he's realized what the situation is. his possession has possessed him

acequinz: He hates it but he loves it too. Oh they are both fucked up now. And it's so pretty. acequinz: That doesn't stop him from continuing trying to kill the alpha and the alpha loves it.

the alpha getting into it and critiquing each murder attempt, grades it

the omega continuing his affairs and the alpha not caring and it /frustrates/ the omega, why isn't he upset by this?

it escalates until the alpha walks in on the omega fucking someone in the living room sofa and all the alpha does is give him an unimpressed look, tells him to clean up when he's down *done

and it gets worse bc the alpha casually mentions that he's seeing someone (it's a lie and a very fun one)

the alpha having so much fun making evidence of the affair. buys himself different kinds of perfume to spray himself w/, buy lipstick to make lipstick marks, buys underwear to tuck in to places

the alpha having a secret notebook to where he writes down the fake affairs. makes up names and jobs for them and even a time table

the alpha having fun seeing the omega getting angrier and angrier, has fun in seeing the murderous rage turned to "someone" else. maybe one of these days, the alpha will tell him the truth. not yet though, this is still so fun

the alpha has his own room, makes a show of saying good night and locking all the locks on the door

the alpha coming in clean one day, puts all the stuff he bought on the dining table, the notebook on top of it. the omega confused, what's all this? he looks through everything then the notebook. the alpha's smile growing wider at the murderous glint in the omega's eyes then… when the omega reads the notebook and this light of realization comes to his eyes, the alpha laughs

'what an idiot' hangs in the air as the alpha laughs and laughs and laughs. the omega flies into a rage. lunges at the alpha w/ a knife. he'll finally kill him! and the alpha senses that. the omega pins the alpha down, knife held high. but it doen't come down to kill. the omega grabs the alpha's arms and cuts away a sleeve. he cuts a line down the alpha's inner forearm, relishing the alpha's pained gasp and expression

the omega fucks the alpha on the floor again, biting him everywhere. staking his claim (and so very relieved. darling, darling, /his/ darling. no one else's!!)

(you didn't look at someone else after all)

acequinz: The alpha loves it. He's finally being claimed.

thinking abt them getting into the groove of the attempted murders. the omega's motivation is still 'i won't be humiliated by you' but now there's 'i won't be humiliated by you choosing someone else' (better to kill you now while i still have you)

(…the omega's family liking the alpha more now bc he's the one that fixed this and tamed their son lmao)

…also just realized that since the omega is a rich spoiled brat, he probably doesn't cook and clean so the alpha, the son of a maid, is the one that does it. which makes the omega's insistence on the housewife facade even more hollow

(hm… i wonder which one i should say first. a random detail or the possibility of incest)

the random detail is that since the alpha wants business from this business transaction, he runs one of them. maybe a bookstore or a eatery and the omega expects and demands that it's a nice one, a bookstore that sells old books and a cafe or restaurant but the alpha goes to the less nicer side of town and sets his business there. a thrift bookstore that's cramped or a cheaper eatery

the alpha stops slicking back his hair and wearing suits, he looks happier in this job

the incest possibility is what i thought of when i typed 'the alpha, son of a maid' and you know how in stories the employer has an affair w/ the maid?

and considering the omega's family, the omega is more against the alpha being a maid's son than being his half-brother lmao (it's the classism)

(hm… thinking abt if a part of the omega's dismissiveness of the alpha is bc the omega's parent preferred their other son, the alpha. would be fun if it's bc the alpha's not a spoiled brat lol)

the omega would have either married a cousin or a someone his parents picked out for him. being given the alpha is super convenient bc it keeps the money and power in the family

bc if the alpha is acknowledged by his rich parent, the alpha marrying some rando gives that rando something of value

he's a bastard then acknowledge by his rich parent so now he has the family name (bastard as in kid out of marriage)

and that's why him possibly marrying some rando is bad bc the family would have to take the rando in. will be given a portion of their money and power

(hm… i think at this point, i should give them names… the alpha is hm… Emil? while the omega is hm… Upton???)

acequinz: Ohhh this makes it even sadder for the alpha and Omega because stupid omega couldn't even see the only person.who held genuine affection for him

Emil means rival… that was an accident lmao. Upton is "upper town" and sounds rich

(upton is a rich bitch and everything that means lol

so… would childhood friends be applicable here?

acequinz: Maybe the parents would have planned this wedding from the start or something and already treated Emil better so not sure on friends….

hm… that's good. upton being raised on having a better pedigree but emil being of a lower pedigree is treated better than him

(i was suggesting childhood friends bc i gotta give emil a reason to have been in love w/ upton in the first place lkjhkhlkh)

acequinz: Yep, not a big big difference Emil is still a bastard child but he ends up receiving more affection than Upton who was expected to be a lot better so got more criticism than anything.

acequinz: Ohhh yeah. Maybe Upton was nice to him as kids but then he noticed the difference in treatment maybe he changed after he was paired with Emil.

it rankles! he hates emil already!!

acequinz: Oohhh what Upton ended up with the understanding that he was just there to be for Emil, so the relationship turned sour and he doesn't want to give into it by marrying him.

(was thinking more that they were friends at first, or as much as upton can be friends w/ someone like /that/, then emil is taken into the family and upton isn't the golden boy anymore)

acequinz: When it was the other way round. Emil was made and raised for upton.

oooo yes! upton was given everything he could ever want, was given emil but then it gets turned around on /him/

their partnership being fixed through being fucked up is part of it now and upton's childhood w/ emil is too

acequinz: Do they just end up living like that till the end? Upton trying to kill Emil and Emil lovingly beating those plans and fucking Upton nice.

not sure… upton might mellow out a lil. gets comfortable w/ this partnership

upton staring at emil one day and declaring that they're gonna get married. emil looks at him curious, what's he talking abt now? upton will sign the papers and have someone forge emil's signatures. and upton might drug emil for the wedding night

upton has a favorite knife now and emil has more scars

acequinz: Oh ho, now he wants to get married? Because Emil doesn't want to?

upton just this realization one day that /does/ want to. if emil doesn't, that's why upton drugs him lol

acequinz: Their wedding night is just Upton taking Emil's drugged up body.

yes! emil waking up and staring at upton dazed, upton's kissing his face, stroking his chest. when emil's mind slowly clears, he realizes he's bound. he's at emil's mercy *at upton's mercy (oops)

upton proudly shows off his wedding ring, cooing that emil has one too! brandishes the wedding papers and delights in emil's frown when his forged signature (upton is a yandere so maybe he's finally hitting the loving side of that behavior)

acequinz: Emil frowns but is he privately happy? He doesn't like the way Upton went about it. But Upton looks so happy with himself it's almost funny because Emil has been trying to get him to agree to this for years

…does emil thinks it's funny bc all he had to do was make upton homicidal?

i think a part of emil /is/ happy, he just tried to distance himself from it bc he doesn't want to feel it/acknowledge it

acequinz: It's definitely funny but also sad.

Cause he had wanted to see Upton like this since forever, seeing him smiling happily at his ring. Sharing somewhat sweet kisses with him as well but when he tried to go away and not want it was the only way Upton gave it to him.

acequinz: And because Upton is only smiling that pretty because it's something he took from Emil rather than something he shared.

emil would be upset! and is! w/ how much upton looks at him now, he'd notice

(it was like that before really. emil getting more withdrawn and melancholic over the years. anyone who's talked to him, his precious co-workers, could see it)

acequinz: Maybe Upton takes joy in it too. Maybe things are going back to the way they were and he kisses him so much sweeter. Calls his darling, calls him love..

emil taking it emotionlessly (hm… does upton's homicidal urges come back up when he sees emil smiling at someone else)

(*his previous co-workers (oops))

acequinz: It most definitely does. Especially cause Emil doesn't share it with him anymore.

like… emil wanted a business to have some agency and upton didn't like it bc it was beneath /him/ but now that he sees how relaxed and happy emil is w/ this business, it makes upton angry

(hm… wonder if upton decided to marry emil /bc/ he saw him so happy. it's 'this will make him /miserable/!!' train of thought)

emil retreats back into his room, locks the door and doesn't come out. it's makes upton grit his teeth

emil is as close as he was before but is now even farther

(…maybe upton does love him. in his own fucked up way that doesn't look like love at all)

acequinz: Upton doesn't let him go. Maybe hits the door until his own hands bleed Emil has to open up. They are married now Emil doesn't get to leave him alone.. Ooohhhh wait Upto hurting himself every time he fails to hurt Emil.

upton will break emil's door down one day. demands that emil come out and will drag him out

hm… in small cuts so it's not as obvious

upton is barely holding on. still smiles at parties, arm around emil's. and emil is only coming down to cook and to make appearances and to go to work and upton is so, so, so very angry

he's married emil now. so if emil runs, he has the right to drag him back but even now… emil finds a way to escape him

acequinz: Does he switch gears then? acequinz: Maybe finally gets down to beg????

(the only comfort upton has is that emil hasn't found anyone)

hm… i think… upton will drug emil first before begging…

acequinz: Drug to knock him out or make him unable to fight?

both. emil still goes into his room even if the door is broken so upton has to drag him out and emil fights

acequinz: I meant like…. Does.emil know Upton begs or is he completely out of it.

emil trying to fight back is the only way upton draws out energy from him. emil doesn't know upton is begging at first, too drugged out but as his mind clears, he can make it out

acequinz: Ohhhh what does he think of that.

w/ contempt lol

acequinz: What does Upton even beg for…

'come back to me, darling?'

emil's dead inside at this point ljkhlkhlkh

but he doesn't dare escape bc since they're "officially" married, upton's parents wouldn't be on his side (they got what they wanted, for emil to upton to marry. why would they care abt their marriage problems?)

acequinz: Ohhh. Maybe Upton tries to kill him again and this time Emil doesn't fight back. It was fun at first but now he's tried.

emil staring at upton and upton's peppering kisses on his face, keeps whispering for emil to come back. when emil can move his mouth. he whispers back. i hate you

and it shatters upton too. he's stunned then starts asking. you don't mean that do you, darling? tell me you don't mean it! then he snarls. answer me, emil!

acequinz: Emil too drugged up again. Can he even say it again.

he would if he could! upton is hysterical, so close to tears then switches to anger. starts tearing up the room while emil can only stare in his drugged up state

(maybe upton's parents are right, there /is/ something in emil that can tame upton)

…will upton finally kill him?

or he doesn't bc emil truly isn't his anymore so killing him would be pointless?

acequinz: Ohhhh Upton returning this time. If Emil won't fight, there's no point. acequinz: Not returning reclusing or something acequinz: So he stops showing up in front of Emil altogether.

(had a thought way back when upton "married" emil, when emil can finally talk, he goes 'you know what will happen' (if you kill me) and all upton does is smile, says that he does, declares then that emil is worth ruining himself over)

i think… that's ok w/ emil. all he wanted was distance and he's finally getting it

acequinz: Poor Emil could never escape it.

(i suppose there's another bad end which is suicide but that's too dark)

then… maybe emil finally getting the space he wanted is how things get better on his side? he doesn't feel as bad, might approach upton now

acequinz: Then what? Will Upton respond?

maybe paradoxically enough, upton leaving him space is how emil feels comfortable enough to approach him

upton doesn't need to, emil doesn't expect him to. what emil only wants is for upton to eat and clean up

like… it's true that emil hates him, resents him and the position he's in but… emil wouldn't mind them talking each other, would like civility

acequinz: Ohhh does Emil ever discover the injuries Upton caused himself?

he's given up on love and love w/ upton but… he still does want them to… agree? bc emil was in the long haul and after his signature was forged, is now actually /in/ the long haul so he'd rather they find a way to not be as miserable together

(like… maybe that's emil's fault. this… softness)

acequinz: Upton hates that even more. He would rather they be miserable than be nothing.

but see, emil doesn't want nothing either! that's why he'd doing this. bringing upton food and coaxing him to eat and take a bath

i guess upton prefers being miserable together bc at least that way he had a hold on emil

acequinz: Upton's been miserable in his head for so long, he can't even recognise any other feelings. acequinz: That's why he wants to be miserable with Emil. Cause pain he knows well, even in his highest moment the miserable feeling in his chest never leaves.

but maybe this will help him feel something else. maybe abt emil. emil is gentle w/ him (which is certainly not something upton deserves at this point)

emil stands outside of upton's door and knocks, softly calling out. won't you eat, upton? and if upton ever opens the door, ever lets him in. emil will help him to the bathroom, might even bathe him

…as seen w/ upton's breakdown, he's stuck between crying and getting angry. it comes out again. but emil pulls upton's arms down and when upton cries, emil holds him

acequinz: He would cry/scream but scariest would be him going quiet. Because Upton is never quiet

aww… yes bc he was always talking. chattering away abt something or other

emil takes it. sits upton down and plays music for him

like… it seems pointless and it takes however many month but… emil might actually manage to get upton out of his moods

acequinz: So which mood with Upton shift to?

watchful

acequinz: Just sits quiet and watches. acequinz: Even when Emil shares a smile with someone else?

watches /emil/ he did that before but it was homicidal rage, waiting for opportunity to kill him but now… upton watches. sees everything abt emil now maybe?

hm… if it's at the start, yes, he'll watch. as upton slowly is himself again, he'll smile and break up the conversation

(maybe he does love emil…)

he saw emil's misery and weaknesses before but now… he sees how tired emil is, that thoughtful frown when he's thinking of what to cook, how he half-listens to music he already knojw

then… if upton ever thinks of it… he'll try something w/ emil. maybe start over?

acequinz: Ohhh is Upton softening? acequinz: Would it work? Starting over?

yes! he didn't see it at first but he starts to slowly emil's gentleness w/ him. learns to appreciate it

acequinz: Can he even erase the past?

it's not… erasing. it's… doing this properly

acequinz: Will Emil agree?

emil doesn't want to… but he does

as upton's slowly himself again, he goes back to being vain and demanding and a chatterbox. still possessive and jealous and maybe homicidal but… different

upton has learned to give emil space so he will and he now knows that how he acted was hurting emil so he'll try not to act like that anymore

or at least, not around emil

(i guess the difference now is that he sees emil as an equal. not lesser than him, not better than him, not his possession that he break) (*that he can break)

acequinz: Damn Emil finally did tame him… acequinz: Took 40+ years but they got there.

the long haul indeed!

upton calls emil by his first name now and maybe emil calls him darling, none of that smirk like he did before

upton being so surprised when emil smiles at him for the first time

acequinz: Oh does that make his heart flutter? Make it go doki doki?

yes!

acequinz: Upton blushing at that smile like a teenager.

emil surprised by that, confused. thinks it's adorable

it took 40+years bc upton is a piece of /work/ jklhlhlg

their parents coming out on top bc the marriage worked out lol

upton in his dresses and throwing parties now in charge of the neighborhood and his husband emil who runs a business downtown and smiles more now

acequinz: Cute. People in shock because they were sure the two will end up killing each other.

people saw emil's melancholy and expected a divorce

#i talk

[loversandantiheroes]

Hotel Hobbies - Part 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!Reader Author’s Note: This was not going to be a multi-chapter thing, but then people liked it and Whiskey wouldn’t shut the hell up so here we are, folks.  I no longer know where this is going so strap the fuck in I guess.  This is so long and I am so sorry. Edited for a cleanup 10/5/2020 Summary:  A co-worker gives the Reader a little nudge, which backfires just a bit when Whiskey runs unexpectedly late. Warnings: Public sex, exhibitionism, angry sex, mild choking/breath play, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, spitting, spanking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (do as I say not as I fictionalize), creampies, come eating, vague allusions to Whiskey’s job and all the dangers contained therein, Whiskey is a service top and I do not take criticism, very brief mention of Whiskey’s past, exactly one (1) use of Spanish that I hope I didn’t fuck up too badly. Rating: Explicit / NSFW / 18+ / How much clearer can I make this? Word Count: 12k+ (oh GOD do not look at me I have no idea what happened) Previous: Prelude / Part 1 / Interlude Taglist: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @oloreaa @the-feckless-wonder @sarcasmisakindofmagic

The conference drags on into its fourth day in a parade of excessively bored people in suits and pencil skirts toting stale danishes and overpriced coffee; the only comforts provided to distract you from the mobius circle-jerk of tedious corporate bullshit. Most of the assembly hall does little more than nod blandly as yet another guest speaker goes through their presentation, the topic of which you forget at least six times throughout the course of it. Half of the attendees aren't even bothering to take notes anymore. The company could've filled the room with potted plants in cheap suits and gotten a better result.  At least the plants would provide a little oxygen to the atmosphere.

It certainly doesn't help your case that half of your brain is circling endlessly around Whiskey. You scribble down a set of shorthand bullet points in your notes and try to blink away the image of his arms straining against taut ropes.  You sip your coffee and remember the heat of his tongue chasing the taste of his namesake in your mouth. When you cross your legs and feel the deep, pleasant twinge between them, for a split second all you can think about is the way he felt sinking down into you with his teeth against your neck.

The time absolutely crawls by. There's moments when you half expect to look up at the old analog clock on the wall and see the hands start running backward. Of course this would be the day the presentations run long, wouldn't it?  Restless and fidgety, you eventually give up on your notes completely and just resign your attention to the clock and whatever obscenity your brain wants to conjure up from the night before.

Claudia, one of your only work friends that actually opted to attend this fiasco, gives you increasingly amused looks throughout the morning, glancing up at you over her phone (on which, you can't help but notice, she has been playing Bejeweled for the past hour with the brightness turned down). After you check the clock for the fifth time in twenty minutes, unable to really keep yourself from sighing angrily through your nose, she shakes her head at you, laughing quietly.

"So what's his name?" she whispers, leaning over conspiratorially.

You give her a glare, but she only raises her eyebrows expectantly. Goddamn it, why does the entire universe find it so funny when you're irritated?

"Whiskey," you mutter back, glowering.

She has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop a snorting giggle from being loud enough to cause a disruption. "Oh my god," she sputters. "Are you fucking a biker?"

And okay, maybe that is a little funny. You shake your head, mutter back, "Cowboy."

Claudia grins so wide her shoulders pull up with it. "Save a horse," she whispers, trying to dodge out of the way when you elbow her to cut off the rest of the joke. Three people behind you simultaneously shush the two of you, and you toss a dirty look over your shoulder, settling back into your seat.

A few seconds go by before Claudia's leaning back over to quietly add, "The dick must be good to get you this distracted."

"Shut up," you shoot back, but you're already smiling.

When the presentation ends, the entire auditorium raising up on creaking knees to shuffle out to break for lunch, Claudia's hand clamps down on your arm.

"I'm buying lunch and you're going to tell me everything."

So you do.  Parked in her conservative little hybrid over styrofoam boxes of take out, you tell her. Damn near everything, too. She listens with rapt attention, this not being the first time she's poked you for details of your love life, such as it is, but judging by the look on her face it's possibly taken the top spot as the most memorable.

"So you're gonna see him again," she says finally as you tell her about Whiskey's invitation before slipping out the door this morning.

You settle back, trying to make yourself look suitably apathetic before answering in the hopes of not being completely transparent. "I dunno. Maybe."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh please. You're gonna see him again. You've been spaced out with dickbrain all day, there's no way you're turning down that invitation."

You wave the end of your plastic fork threateningly. "I will stab you, I swear."

"Not with this many witnesses," she says with a wave at the horde of pedestrians outside on the sidewalk, blatantly ignoring the shanking motions you make in warning.  

When she doesn't drop that annoying, knowing look, you start jabbing at your food, rolling a piece of cucumber around the styrofoam. "I mean...ok yeah I thought about it."

"All morning," Claudia provides.

"Fuck you," you counter lightly, and resist the urge to fling the chunk of cucumber at her. "I just...I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea."

"Oh my god, why not?" she cries, head thrown back in exasperation.

"Well it's not exactly fucking sensible, is it?"

"Honey if you were worried about being sensible you wouldn't have fucked a cowboy you picked up at a hotel bar," she says with a shake of her head.

"Did you miss the part where he tried to convince me he was James fucking Bond?  I mean c'mon Claudia.  That's gotta be...I dunno, some kinda red flag."

She scoffs, flapping a dismissive hand. "Oh please, when the bullshit's that obvious I don't even think it counts. It’s not like you bought it anyway.  Besides, honesty is the backbone of a solid relationship, if you're just poking fun it's more like a bonus.  As long as he's not married and not a serial killer, who gives a shit?  You’re overthinking the shit outta this, hon.”

That’s...well that’s not wrong.  It’s honestly irritating how not wrong that is.

When you don’t give a response save for the idle sounds of plastic scratching on your takeout box, Claudia groans. “God are you really gonna make me talk you into getting yourself laid? Okay, if you wanna be rational about it, fine, here's some rational thought for you." She pops out her thumb, ticking off digits as she lists. "He's hot. He likes to eat pussy. He's a fuckin' sub, which - holy shit, girl. Holy actual fucking shit. Plus he's packing and he actually knows what to do with it.  Oh, and he bought you fuckin' breakfast!" She wiggles her fingers as she thrusts her hands out towards you. "Seven outta ten, babe! My god, if you don't fuck him I'll do it for you just so I don't have to eat another shitty continental breakfast."

You laugh, but there's a hot flush creeping up your face, and you have to stare out the window for a minute until it starts to wind back. It's almost successful, until you think of Whiskey again. This time, though, all you think of is him outlined in the door, looking back at you with his face too shaded to see.  And then your cheeks flare hot again, not with that lingering sense of want, but with a flighty kind of panic.

And just like that you pin it down, your stomach twisting on itself as you finally put words to that moment of apprehension.  Whiskey doesn't scare you.  His lines don't scare you.  The way he fucks you doesn't even scare you.  But that moment that he lingered does. It scares you because you think maybe what was going through his head is the same thing that's been going through yours, a fine little thread looped around every remembered pleasure: the worry that you're about to develop a taste for something that you'll never have the chance to get again.  

Maybe it's better to leave it.  To chalk it up as a fluke and not risk finding out that he'd feel just as good the second time as he did the first.  Cut it off now before that lingering taste turns into a full-blown craving.

Claudia sighs, closing her takeaway box.  "Look, hon.  I'm not trying to tell you what to do. It just sounds to me like you're overthinking this. You don't need to be fucking sensible all the goddamn time. So what if you're thinking with your pussy right now? You had fun. He was fun. You have the option to have more fun. You are entitled to have some fun. So, hey: fuck sensibility and have some fucking fun."

You nod. It's reflex at first, but slowly becomes more deliberate. More sure.  "Okay. Yeah. You're probably right."

"I am always right, thank-you-very-much," she corrects, and then promptly shrieks as you launch a slice of cucumber into her hair.

                                                           ⁂

The trick of it all, you remind yourself that evening as you cross the hotel lobby for the elevator, is not to think about it.  Because if you think about it, really think about it, you will find a way to talk yourself out it. Sensibility is as much of a hindrance as a help at times.  But you've decided now: the absolute last thing you want to be tonight is sensible. You've been bored out of your mind all week, and as much as you're loathe to admit it, Whiskey has been the only bright spot in the whole affair.  At least he's given you something to look forward to, even if it is just the prospect of getting railed until you forget your own name.  

You take the time to change when you make it to your room.  Grab yourself a short, but blisteringly hot shower, and conveniently forget your panties when you redress.  Eventually you make your way down to the bar with your heart almost strangling you with the way it's seemingly lodged itself in your throat.   Whiskey's nowhere to be seen, which isn't a complete surprise.  He always seemed to turn up a little late in the evening before.  Not wanting to deviate too far from your own habits, if only to make yourself a little easier to spot, you take your familiar place at the far end where you've been set up for so many nights in a row. You order your drink, make friends with the closest basket of pretzels, and you wait.

And wait...and wait.

Your eyes are half on the clock and half on the door, flicking back to that last at every sign of movement.  Despite the fact that you're practically nursing your drink, the bartender refills your glass twice over the course of the night. When he offers a third, you shake your head.  Your face feels like it's burning. The bartender nods and wanders away, either oblivious to the growing anger on your face or determined not to end up the recipient of it.

It's nearly midnight when you finally push yourself off the bar stool, throwing down enough bills to cover your tab and storming off.  He stood you up.  You cannot fucking believe it.  What's worse is you feel like you should believe it.  Should've expected it.  As if a man that strutted around like a preening rooster and fed you a bullshit James Bond story would have a streak of honesty.

You punch the elevator button hard enough to make your hand tingle, pushing your way through the doors as they open and hitting the button for your floor. The walls of the elevator are mirrored, and you duck your head, not wanting to know what your face looks like just now, twisted up in anger and more than a little shame. The doors hang for a moment before sliding closed.  At the last possible second a hand darts in, stopping them. Broad. Tanned. Tattooed. The man of the hour leans through the doors as they retreat, and gives you a grin.

"Room for one more?"

Your stomach does a back flip, blood rushing in so many directions you're not sure if you've got enough left to power a response. If this little scenario had played out even half an hour earlier, you might've laughed. Might've fallen back into that easy bitchy banter the two of you seemed so good at. Might've even kissed him. But not now.  Now you've built up too much steam, and every little ounce of anger – earned or not – that you'd had percolating for this man since you first laid eyes on him bursts out of your mouth in two words, laced with as much venom as you can muster.

"Fuck you."

You can practically hear the record scratch in his head.  The smile falls, eyebrows ratchet up so high you can't see them for the brim of his hat.  It's satisfying in an awful sort of way.  Like scratching an itch hard enough to draw blood.  Too late to take it back now, though.  You lash out at the elevator panel, punching the button marked CLOSE DOORS, and Whiskey side-steps neatly inside.

"All right," he says slowly.  "That is not exactly the reaction I was hoping for."

"Yeah, well tough shit, cowboy," you all but spit, raking a hand through your hair. You keep your eyes down.  Forward.  Anywhere but on him.  It's hard, too many reflections.  Even the distorted shape of his  silhouette in the door makes your blood boil.

"I know I'm late," he starts, hands raised, and the low and placating tone of his voice hits you like lighter fluid on a match.

"You don't fucking say?"

His hands drop. "Can I at least explain myself?"

Laughing too loud and too sharp, you shrug, shoulders pulling up hard.  "Yeah, sure, why not? Let me guess, rough day at Spy HQ? Assassination appointment run over? Or were you just hiding behind the fucking dieffenbachia to see how long I'd stick around before I came to my fucking senses?" 

The shrill sound of your own voice almost makes you wince.  You're overreacting. It's not like you're unaware of it. But you're pissed off, and worse now, you've committed to being pissed off. Backing down now is damn near impossible, never mind actually apologizing.

Whiskey takes a step forward, his eyes gone all puppy dog again; wide and imploring under twisted brows. "Look, I don't blame you for thinkin' the worst. I know I left you waitin', and I apologize for that -"

You roll your eyes, mouth twisting into a smile that shows too much teeth to be kind. "Christ, y'know what, don't flatter yourself.  I like that bar.  The pretzels are nice and they don't water down the liquor.  I didn't show up for you."

"Oh horseshit," he snaps. He doesn't raise his voice, but there is a whip crack of impatience in it. "If you didn't want to see me tonight you wouldn't have turned up at all. You and I both know that."

Fuming, you jam your hand into your purse, fishing out his flask and tossing it at him hard enough that it hits him square in the chest. He catches it on the rebound.

"Here. You forgot this."

Whiskey turns it over in his hands, thumping the metal against his palm. "Right.  I see," he says slowly, slipping the flask into his pocket. Under that thick drawl, there's a twinge of something that might be disappointment. "Just came to do the decent thing and return a man's property."

"Yes." Part of you sinks, screaming in frustration.  But it's like you're a spectator now, just watching yourself sabotage the only thing that'd brought you a shred of joy all week just because your pride and temper won't allow any other option.

One hand falls to his hip, the other rubs idly across his mouth. He's scowling now, quite spectacularly at that, and for a second you think you've finally dealt enough of a blow to his pride to piss him off. Then he steps in close, jaw set. The way his eyes travel up and down you sends a flush through your body, and you're not sure if you want to slap him hard enough to knock the mustache off his face or kiss him until his lips bleed. His gaze lingers at your hip, your curves quite plainly displayed under the tight skirt. He reaches out. The back of his fingernails barely brush the fabric.

"Do you always make returns without any panties on?"

You try to swallow, but find your mouth has gone suddenly bone dry, your throat sticking with a sharp and painful click.  "Fuck off," you try to tell him, but it comes out a croak.

"You know what I think?" Whiskey continues, and the tone would nearly be conversational if it weren't for the way he's looking at you, eyes perfectly black and hungry under the shade of his hat.  "I don't think you're just mad because I'm late.  I think you're mad because I can get a rise outta you. Part of you kinda likes it. Enough to wanna come back for a little more of it. And you don't know what to do about that.  Bet you can't even decide if you wanna throttle me or ride me 'til you can't come anymore. Bit of both, maybe, huh?"

Oh fuck you very much, Mister Perceptive.  "Christ, you and your fucking ego-"

"Oh to hell with my fucking ego, and yours too." He leans in close enough that you can smell aftershave and a fainter, acrid smell that, if you weren't so fucking preoccupied, you might recognize as spent gunpowder. "If you want me to go, just fuckin' say it. But don't bullshit a bullshitter.  If you wanted rid of me that bad you would've tossed me out on my ass last night before I'd even finished coming."

Your jaw works, and you push yourself a little harder against the handrail just to keep from slapping him. How dare he-

How dare he what, exactly? Be right?  Again?

You clench your jaw, gripping the handrail on the wall tight enough that the corners dig into your fingers. Glare at him like you're trying to light him on fire. He doesn't flinch.

"What you did last night...that made for a hell of a first impression," he says slowly, and the low rasp of his voice almost curls your toes.  "One I don't expect I'm liable to forget this side of fuckin' doomsday. Shit, I don't even know your fucking name and I ain't been able to shake the thought of you all damn day.  Now you can believe that or not, and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.  But the only thing I'm asking from you right now is to be fucking straight with me.  If you want me to go, you fucking tell me, and I'm gone.  But if you want me to stay, honeybee I swear I will make up for every second you had to wait."

"Fuck you, Whiskey," you breathe.  It's all you've got left, all you can even think to say, but it's too soft. It's too hard not to believe him when he's looking at you like that.  Even if he's still got your teeth on edge, ready to bite, the fire in your belly is sinking lower every second. And there's no way to mistake the low rasp of your voice for anger.

He leans in, hovering barely an inch away from you, and tips your chin up with his knuckle. "That ain't an answer, honeybee."

His lip curls into a smirk and for a second all you can think about is running your tongue out to follow the curve of it.

"You can punish me if you like," he offers in a low, darkly sweet voice. The fingers on your chin trace a path along your jaw, up to your ear, and down the side of your neck as he talks; a three-point constellation drawn in goosebumps. "Lord knows I deserve it. Tie me up again. Ride my tongue until you've had your fill and never lay a finger on me.  I don't mind a bit.  I'll probably come in my fucking jeans like a goddamn high school virgin while you do it, too."

Oh god. It's too hot. It's too hot and he's too close and it feels like there's no air left.  Those words took the last of it and left you with nothing. And then your lungs finally unlock, hitching in air so pitifully loud that for a second his eyes drop first to your mouth and then lower to watch the buttons strain on your blouse.

His tongue brushes up against the back of his bottom lip, a strange gesture, but one you can't drag your eyes away from.  And the bastard just keeps talking.  

"Then again, maybe the way you've been acting up you'd be more inclined for a little punishment yourself. I could take you upstairs. Turn you over my knee and put my hand to that pretty little ass until it blushes like a ripe summer peach. I'd bet you'd drip just as much and twice as sweet, too. I'd kill for a taste of you right now. Fuck, if you really want I could just hike that skirt up and fuck you right here and now.  I am a flexible man and I am willing to take you any way you'd see fit to let me. But only if you let me.  I ain't here to play bullshit games, and I will not take anything you don't want to give.  So I need you to tell me, honeybee.  Do you want this? Yes or no?"

Everything inside you burns and twists.  Fuck, you want that.  All of that.  And all you have to do to get it is unstick your stubborn, too-sharp tongue and admit that you want it. That even without the excuse of three shots of tequila on top of a few too many cocktails, you still want it.

You're burning up.  There's sweat on your palms.  It squeaks as you twist your hands over the railing.  He hasn't just turned the tables on you, he's flipped the whole fucking room and cornered you with it. And God help you, it's infuriating how much you like it.

"Hate you. So much."

"Hm." His hand falls away, and you miss the touch instantly. "So you keep sayin'. Decision time, honeybee. You pick or I'm picking for you and we're both gonna be disappointed in that result."

There is a long long beat where that threat hangs between you.  Any hope that he might just push forward and take you anyway – push you into the wall and fuck you ragged right here and now without another word – bleeds away as you stare him down, your wordless challenge going unanswered. His gaze is iron; hard and unyielding, and you know if you wait even one more second, this...whatever the hell this is, will be over. Permanently.

Swallowing the last of your pride like so much cheap liquor, you seize the front of his shirt, dragging him forward even as he starts to back away.

"Yes. Fucking goddamn it.  Yes, I want this."

"Yeah?" He leans in, nose brushing your cheek.  Somehow it's that little gesture that sets off a bomb's worth of butterflies in your stomach.

"Yes."

The heat of his hand is almost shocking as it glides up your thigh and underneath your skirt, his thumb stroking up and finding only bare skin. Whiskey grins. "Knew it."

You choke back a sigh.  "Smug bastard."

"Yes ma'am."  His thumb brushes up and down your slit idly, slow and considering.  He glances around, quirks an eyebrow, and offers: "Here?"

Following his glance, you spot the hunk of plastic mounted in the top corner of the elevator.  "Camera. Fuck."

"Sure enough," he drawls, still grinning.  "You want to give the boys 'n' girls in the security booth a show, or d'you want to go someplace a little more sensible?"

Sensible. God, If he'd chosen any other word, you might've agreed. Private. Safe. Anything but fucking sensible.  

"Fuck sensibility. Fuck security, too. Just shut up and fuck me."

He laughs through your kiss, the touch of his lips too gentle by miles.  The last thing you want right now is gentle. You don't fucking deserve gentleness after all that.  And so you rake your teeth across his bottom lip, roll your tongue against his. When you nip at his tongue, Whiskey breaks off, cupping your sex with a warm, calloused hand.

"You're gonna eat me alive, honeybee," he growls.  He parts you with a thick finger, drawing the pad of it from your entrance to your clit and back again. "Mm, I have been thinkin' about this all day," he murmurs before his finger sinks into you.

Sighing, you curl your arms around his neck, knocking his hat off to run your fingers through his hair and muss up that razor-clean side part. His hand works unhurried between your legs.  You rock against it, listening to the obscene smacking sound as he works you open.

"All that fuss and you're wet for me already, darlin'," Whiskey says wonderingly.

All you can do is groan, chasing the sensation of the heel of his hand pressing against your clit.  "Shut up and kiss me."

You tug at his hair, try to urge him forward, but he doesn't budge.  He sinks down to his knees instead, right hand never leaving the wet heat of your cunt.

"I'll kiss you, baby," he says, pushing up your skirt and lifting your right leg over his shoulder.  "Don't you worry."

And he kisses you: a warm, wet slide of lips and tongue where he's got you spread. Gasping, you grab the back of his head. He looks up at you, only the crinkles at the corner of his eyes proof of his smile, and his eyes slip closed like a man savoring his favorite meal.

"Jesus." The word comes out in a squeak as his mouth works on you, your throat tightening in an effort to keep quiet.  A second finger joins the first and you whimper, tightening reflexively against the stretch.  Christ those fingers are thick. Shuddering, you work your fingers in his hair and pull him closer, your eyes wandering up to the reflection in the far wall.  The view is mesmerizing: your back arched, skirt hiked up to your waist, with Whiskey's head buried in between your legs like a man trying to slake an ungodly thirst. The view on the left is even better.  From there you can watch his mouth work against you, catching a glimpse of his tongue, wet and shining as it slips between your folds. He sways forward on his knees like a charmed snake, a growing bulge straining against the dark blue denim of his jeans.

There's a gentle ding, and for a moment you're so scrambled you think maybe your phone's going off.  And then the elevator doors slide open. An older looking gent with a battered briefcase stands frozen on the other side, eyes wide as dinner plates as he takes in the same view you've been admiring in the mirrored walls of the elevator.  

For a single spaced-out second the only thing you can think is, Going down?, which makes you erupt into a fit of breathless, senseless giggles.

The newcomer's mouth hangs, flapping uselessly over words he can't quite formulate.  He might be trying to apologize for the intrusion or insist you repent and turn to Jesus.  You don't know and you don't care.

Whiskey looks up at him over the line of your thigh, lips glistening.  "Get the next one," he snarls, and punches the CLOSE DOORS button.

He plants a rough, sucking kiss at the top of your cleft as the doors close again, utterly unperturbed.  "Penthouse, darlin', if you please."

Oh he would be in the fucking penthouse, wouldn't he?  Panting, you fumble a hand out trying to find the button just as Whiskey slides in a third finger and you cry out, almost swiping every button in the center row by accident.

The elevator hums to life and begins to move.  The red light on the security camera flashes benignly and you stare at it for a long beat while Whiskey gets right back to work, moaning hungrily between your legs.  Someone's watching this.  The thought excites you more than it should, adding fuel to the already roaring fire Whiskey is so eagerly stoking with his tongue.  You roll your hips, swearing roundly.  It's not enough.  It's fucking glorious, but it's not enough.  You know what you need.

"Fuck me," you gasp.  "Goddamn it, Whiskey, gimme your cock."

He glances up at you through thick lashes, eyebrows raised.  "Is that what you want, honeybee?" he asks.

You bear down on his fingers hard as if to answer and he clenches right back, thumb and pinky giving him leverage against your pubic bone as he grips you tight, fingers stroking along your walls. It's only by virtue of the handrail and the support of his shoulder that you don't sink straight to the floor.  Christ that backfired.

You nod fervently, head spinning.

A roll of his shoulder unseats your leg, and he stands.  His left hand wraps around your throat, thumb against your jawline, and that's so fucking perfect you can't stop yourself from whimpering. In a flare of desperation you grasp his wrist, urging him to grip your neck just a little tighter. Chuckling, he brushes his lips against yours – soft and strangely tender – while he fucks you steadily with his fingers.

"Shoulda known you'd like that.  Well?  Cat got your tongue?  Come on, darlin', lemme hear it."

"Yes."

"Louder. Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"Oh god-d-d-damn it!"

He chuckles darkly, fingers coaxing inside you.  "You can do it, honeybee.  I know you want it. I just need hear you say it."

You bare your teeth.  "I want you to fuck me."

"Good girl."  He grins down at you, wide and wolfish.  "Now: ask me nicely."

Oh he would, wouldn't he?

"B-bastard," you snarl, then begin to laugh.

"Oh come on now," he croons, eyes darting between your lips and your own heavy-lidded stare. "I'm sure you can get along without your pride for an hour or two. It ain't so bad.  And I promise I'll make it worth your while. C'mon."

You groan, grit your teeth, and hiss out: "Please."

He crooks his fingers and you gasp like you've been burned.  "'Please' what?"

"Please fuck me.  Please fuck me."

He slots your trembling thigh between his legs, pressing the clothed, solid length of his cock against you.  "With this?  Hm?"

"Fuck, yes."  You writhe, feel it twitch, and he rolls against you in response.  

"Come for me first, honeybee.  Then I'll fill you up good and proper. Cross my heart."

His fingers press into you harder, spreading gently as he draws them back. Your legs begin to shake so badly that he has to pin you to the wall to hold you up.  The rail digs into your back.  You'll bruise tomorrow, but you're not sure you've ever cared less in your life.  

"You gonna come, for me?" he asks, rutting a little more enthusiastically against you when he feels you begin to tense and flutter around his fingers.

Squeezing your eyes shut tight, you nod, feeling the drag of his lips on your cheek.  

"Uh-uh. Talk to me, darlin', I wanna hear it. I want you to tell me every single time you're gonna come, you understand me? Count them out.  Let's see just how many you got in you tonight."

"Oh you ass!"  You moan and laugh all in the same breath.  

"You like it," he says simply.  

He kisses you, warm and deep, and you bite his lip for the audacity.  "Don't stop.  Fuck, I'm close."

He turns your head, slides his hand around to cup the back of your neck. "Open your eyes, honeybee.  Watch yourself."

You try.  Everything's a blur; inside and out.  Fuzzy and disconnected and hot. Blinking to clear the fog, you can see your reflection caught between the wall and Whiskey's body. Your eyes are dazed, unfocused. His cheek is against yours, a look of utterly indecent hunger on his face, lips red and swollen where you've bitten him. He's pressed up against you too tightly to get a good view, but you can see his arm pinned between your bodies, and the flex of muscles working underneath his jacket.

There is, you note with a fuzzy sort of disconnect, a small, ragged hole in the arm of his jacket.

But before you can put any more thought to this discovery he presses his thumb down against your clit – no friction, only a firm, rolling pressure – and that's all you need. If it wasn't for the his body against yours, you'd buckle.  As it is, trapped between him and the wall, all you can do is quake and cry out, arms tightening around his shoulders as you come.

He hums indulgently, kissing your cheek.  "Count it out."

Panting, you pull hard on his hair until he groans.  "One."

"Good girl," he murmurs.  Slowly his hand withdraws, giving one last slow swirl over your folds before he sucks you greedily off his fingers.

There's the muffled sound of a zipper and you could almost laugh – finally! But then the elevator slows and stops, doors sliding open with a soft ding.  Whiskey glances sidelong at the open door, corner of his mouth pulling up in a half-cocked grin.  The disappointed whine you give as you hear him zip himself right back up is wholly involuntary.

"Well wouldn't you know it," he says, pulling away from you and stooping for his hat. It's all you can do not to whack him on the back of the head – or on the ass – as he turns away, wiggling your skirt back down over your hips instead.

He gives a ridiculous wink towards the security camera with his hat held to his chest. Your stomach gives a neat little flip as you look up at that blinking red light – god, you'd forgotten it was even there.  

"Sorry to blue-ball ya and run, fellas." He gets an arm around your waist, tugging you into the hall at an easy, languid pace, as if nothing had happened. As if your legs weren't still quivering, with the evidence of your orgasm running in sticky trails down the inside of your thighs.

"Betcha money, marbles, or chalk they'll be jerkin' off over that for weeks," he says jovially, pulling you to his hip when he feels you start to wobble. "C'mon. Let me get you in a bed before I say to hell with it all and fuck you out here on the goddamn floor."

Your knees tremble again; at least one part of you has full support of that particular idea. As the door opens you pull him back to your mouth, kissing him hard even as he steers you by the hips through the suite.  You barely see any of it. Recessed halogen lights.  The sparkle of painstakingly cleaned glass and marble.  Little else. A grunt escapes you as you fetch up hard against the wall and Whiskey crashes into you.  The sudden pressure against his groin leaves him winded, rocking forward against you with a shuddering groan.

"Tell me how you want it," he says, words mangled against your mouth. The salt-musk taste of you still clings to his tongue, sharp against some faint remnant of sweet mint.

One hand slips down, squeezing your breast through the material of your blouse.  The room spins giddily like a tilt-a-whirl, still riding the coattails of your last orgasm. "Hard," you breathe.  The skirt you chose is too fucking tight, and you have to reach down to drag it back up your thigh just to hook a leg around him.  "Don't you dare be gentle."

He chuckles as you press into him. "How hard is hard? I can be a little rough if you let me off the leash."

Frustrated, you slip your hands under his sports coat, nails biting into his shoulders through his dress shirt.  "Fuck, do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Yeah," he says, and his voice has reached that breathy, sonorous pitch that sends a hot-cold shiver rocketing down your spine.  "Yeah you do.  A little honesty would be appreciated tonight."

One good shove and his jacket slips to the floor.  "That's funny coming from Double-O-Cowpoke."

"Not my fault you don't believe me."  It's pitched like a joke, light and breezy, but there's something in his eyes.  Sharp and peculiar and gone almost before you can be sure it was really there, but makes your stomach clench with a sudden surety that the next words out of his mouth are completely genuine.  "I ain't lied to you yet, honeybee."

And that almost brings you to a halt.  Your hands splay out on his shoulders, pushing back to look at him more clearly.  If that's true. If that's true...oh god, why would he have told you?

The question is halfway to your lips before he surges his way forward again, his mouth crashing into yours and kissing you hard and urgent and bruising. A faint sound of protest rises in your throat and you push back a little, not wanting him to stop but wanting him to wait because...because....

And the rest of that thought flutters away. He doesn't stop kissing you.  He just doesn't stop.  And he's moaning as his tongue licks into your mouth and his teeth scrape over your lips like it's the most decadent thing in the world.  You grasp at his face, wrists caging in his neck, feeling his pulse race along next to your at such a frantic speed it's almost alarming.  Your last little shred of rational thought all but begs you to push him back a little harder, to make him look at you and ask him what's wrong...and then it just flutters away because God this is what you want.  This.  This, this, this.

"You want it hard?" he rasps into your mouth, rutting up against you hard enough to drive you back into the wall.

Breathless, you nod.  Work your fingers through the mess you've made of his hair. "Ruined you last night, didn't I?"  You tighten your grip, use your knuckles for leverage and pull.

Whiskey groans, slipping his hands under the bunched hem of your skirt to grip your ass and grind you down against him.  "Goddamn right you did, honeybee."

"So ruin me back."  The thick denim that covers his fly is rough, but you rub against it all the same, shuddering at the coarseness against your tender skin.  "Fair is fair.  Right?"

His eyes slip closed and he buries his face against your neck for a moment, breathing unsteady.  "Jesus, girl, you're gonna soak straight through my jeans," he mutters. "All right, honeybee.  All right.  I only got one rule.  If I do anything you don't want, you tell me. 'Cause I ain't stopping unless you do. Not tonight. Got it?"

"Whiskey-"

He gets a grip on your chin, levels your eyes on his.  "You tell me 'no' or you tell me 'stop.'  Got it?"

"Yes." Patience exhausted, you wrench his belt open. "Now come on."

Buttons patter to the floor as he tears open your blouse.  And that's good. That's fair. And what's even better is the rough way he puts his hands on you, yanking your bra down to knead and squeeze your bare breasts.  When you finally free his cock there's only a brief moment to savor the warm, solid length in your grip before his fingers clamp down on your nipples.  The sensation is so sharp and bright and sudden that you yelp, arching up on your tip-toes.

"Hands off, honeybee," he warns.

Whimpering, you flatten your hands against the wall.

"Too much?" he asks softly, that funny little furrow deepening between his eyebrows.

A groaning laugh slips out of you, and you arch your back, pushing your breasts against his hands.  "Not enough."

"Fuck, ain't you just the sweetest, dirtiest thing." He twists and you cry out, hips bucking forward.  His cock drags against your hip and you chase it, trying to pin it between you.

"Oh, c'mon.  You promised," you whine.

"Oh I'm gonna keep my promise, baby, don't you fret. I want you just as fucked-out as you had me. Wanna see you so goddamn cock dumb your eyes roll back. Bet you've been thinking about this all day, too, haven't you?"

The wall warms under your hands as you fight not to push back more.  And maybe that's what does it.  A little mental-short circuit.  Because God knows you haven't been able to think of a single fucking thing other than this.  But the denial is on your lips so fast it must be involuntary, a reflexive need to find his buttons and push: "You wish."  

Whiskey raises an eyebrow, lip curling.  For a second he's amused, seeing the game you want to play. And then it's like a switch flips. Suddenly this isn't the man who'd begged for the privilege of fucking you last night. This isn't even the man who'd put his grateful mouth to your cunt in the elevator. This is the man he'd pretended to be right up until you got his hands tied. The cowboy get up wasn't the costume – this is. This smile. This infuriating swagger.  

"Oh, really?" he says, and for the first time you realize just how much that drawl had begun to soften around you, because now that dial's ramped right back up to 11.  "You turn up tonight without any goddamn panties on, ride my fingers like a coin-op pony, beggin' to get fucked all the while, and then you try and tell me you ain't been thinkin' about me?  I felt how hard you came. How fucking wet you were."  His hand darts between your legs as quick a snake-strike, fingers carding through your folds. "Are.  Ain't no face left to save, darlin'."

He's in your space, radiating heat, his fingers stroking against your swollen sex, stoking your own fire all over again. But the fire those words kindle burns a little quicker and a little hotter. Without a second thought you strike out, palm tingling as it finds its target against his cheek.

For a moment Whiskey doesn't even seem to breathe. He just stands there leaning heavy against you with his eyes closed and his nostrils flaring. Redness blooms against his cheek.  When his eyes open again, the way they bore into you, glittering and eager takes your own breath away.

He hums, that low, pleased sound.  But now it slips lower and lower into a breathy rumble that lances straight through you.  "Do it again."

Swallowing hard, you slap him again.  Harder this time.  For a moment the only reaction he gives is the way his cock bobs sharply, slapping against your thigh.

Then he growls, seizing the back of your neck and crushing you to him.  You crane up, half expecting a kiss, but his thumb snags the corner of your mouth.  He drags it open until your jaw hangs, tilting your head back.  A choked sound that's a little too plaintive to be a protest slips from your open mouth a second before Whiskey spits into it.

"Swallow."

You do, sucking hard on his thumb for good measure.

"You nasty little thing," Whiskey says, his voice slow and dark as molasses. His eyes glaze over a little as he works the ball of his thumb against your tongue, watching the way your lips purse around it. "Maybe you are the one that needs the punishin'."

He leans against you, breathing hard as he considers this thought. You frown a little, catching his thumb with your teeth, hoping he'll get the hint and give you something better to put in your mouth. But then his grip loosens, one hand disappearing behind you. Hints, it appears, are completely off the table tonight.

"In," he growls, throwing open the bedroom door. "Now."

Whiskey leads you inside, hitting the lights with his elbow.  The room is furnished in that same drab but sparkling minimal style, an impressively large bed swallowing up the majority of the space.  One wall is nothing but windows behind drawn shades, a sliding door leading out to a small, isolated balcony.

He steers you directly to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling you across his lap to straddle his knee.  You let out an indignant little yelp at the treatment, but then he shifts his leg under you and the indignance crumbles. It presses against your mound just right, urging you open, and you grind down with a gasp, trying to find a little relief.

Whiskey tuts.  "Oh now look at that. Try to tell me you ain't been thinkin' about takin' my dick and then rub on me like a goddamn cat in heat."  

There's the sound of a zipper – not his this time, but your own – and then a little tickle at your hip as he undoes the skirt and wrestles it down your legs. He pushes your blouse up, bunching the material up around your shoulder blades.  For a second you think he means to pull it off, but then he twists the fabric around his hand.  The garment draws up tight, leaving your arms, still in the sleeves, pinned to your sides.  

You moan a little when you feel his hand slide across your ass. He bends over you, and you feel the wet heat of his mouth against your ass cheek.  A sweet, languid swirl of his tongue before he bites down.  You jerk hard enough that your clit drags against the rough weave of his jeans and you cry out, the sound muted by the bedspread.

The pressure of his knee aches beautifully against your cunt, your breathing so shallow and quick it makes you lightheaded.  You know what's coming, and you know what you asked for.  The last thing you wanted was to be sensible.  And this – well this might be the least sensible thing you've ever done.  

You buck your hips up sharply. Searching for his hand.  "Do it."

The first strikes are quick and brisk.  They tingle, warming your skin, but don't hurt. Not yet.  This is just a tease of the real thing.  A warm up. The tips of his fingers trace the first reddening outline of his hand against your skin, a match for the not-yet faded print against his cheek.  Crooning, he kneads your buttocks, spreading them apart, making the slick folds of your pussy slide against each other.

"Sweet Jesus will you look at that.  Open that up, baby.  Lemme see just how fuckin' wet that gorgeous little pussy is."

You gasp, grinding down again, and then first real slap lands across your ass, unexpected and jarring.  The sting is enough to make your eyes water, but the impact drives you forward, almost encouraging your hips to grind into him.  A second strike lands on the other cheek, then back to the first, alternating each time.  You rock with it, caught between the hot stinging slap of skin on skin and the building heat between your legs.

"This what you wanted?"  Crack.

"Fuck!"

"Is it?" he demands.  His hand descends again.  Crack.

"Yes!" You kick out, struggling not because you want to, but because you have to. And it only makes it worse. Or better, or – God, you don't even know now. It's more. It's just more. His knee digs in harder and your poor neglected cunt throbs with a misplaced ache and you swear you have never needed to feel yourself filled up more than you do right now.

"You gonna behave?" Crack. "You gonna stop lyin' to me now?"  CRACK.

"Yes!" The word leaves you in a shuddering sob, thighs clamping down around Whiskey's leg.  One more, God help you, one more and you'll tip over, you'll come all over his knee, you're so close.

And then he stops, rubbing and kneading the hot flushed skin, and you whine in desperate frustration as your orgasm begins to retreat.

"Goddamn. Prettier than a Georgia peach," Whiskey says thickly. His hand strays, slips down between your cheeks and presses against the splayed lips of your pussy. You writhe under the sudden attention, feeling the tips of his fingers slide around your clit. "And damned if you don't drip twice as sweet."

"Please." Warmth trickles from the corner of your eyes, blooming against the bedspread.

The swirl of his hand is lazy, almost soothing but for the way it keeps you so frighteningly close to the edge. "Truth first, honeybee. C'mon. You know what I wanna hear."

"Ye-yes," you mutter.  "Goddamn it yes.  I've been thinking about fucking you all day.  All goddamned day...God, Jesus, fuck, and then you didn't show. Thought you'd ditched me.  Made me want - want it and then ditch me."

You bury your face in the quilt. It's a fucking cop out and you know it. You don't just want it.  You want him.  Fuck, what is happening?

Again you feel his mouth against your ass cheek, open and wet, but this time his tongue is almost cool by comparison. "There now. I didn't ditch you, baby. Wouldn't fuckin' dream of it."  His voice is low now, placating, nearly apologetic. And then his fingers are slipping inside you again, stroking and curling. "I'm right here here, baby. Right here. Just a little late, is all."

You whine, trying to wriggle back to drive him in deeper. Those thick fingers are like fucking magic but you need more than they can provide. Desperate now, you clutch your fingers back towards him, find his shirttail and tug at it. "Jack. Please."

It doesn't even register to you that you've called him by his name – God, you didn't even think you remembered his name – until the fingers inside you still. If it wasn't for the hammering of your heart in your ears you might've heard his breath catch.

Slowly he twists his fingers inside you, pressing down until you shudder. "What is it, honeybee?" he mutters. The hoarseness in his voice is familiar. You wish you could see his face. "Tell me what you want."

"Please fuck me.  Please.  I waited all fucking night."

He rolls you off his lap, leaving you dangling half off the bed and folds over you, cock nestled against the heat of your reddened ass. There's a sticky slide to it; you're not the only one that's wet.

"Hand to God, baby, I'll make it worth every minute. On my fuckin' life." The pained edge in his voice sets the room spinning, and for one mad moment you find yourself trying to grab onto the bedspread to keep from rolling away. Whiskey leaves a kiss against the back of your neck before he draws back, the hand fisted in your shirt tugging you along just a bit.

There's a long, wavering moment when his touch leaves you entirely and you almost protest before you hear him frantically shedding his clothes behind you. Then his hands return, his left winding back into your shirt, his right warm and strong against your back. The blunt, weeping head of his cock nudges between the swollen lips of your pussy. He stays there for an infuriatingly long moment, enough that you cry out your frustration into the bedclothes.  

And then he finally makes good on his promise.

You go up on your toes, legs straining as he breaches you. After all the hours you spent thinking about it, all the hours you waited, it's bliss. But the pure, unadulterated stretch of it laces that bliss with a white-hot line of fire that only serves to make it all the more urgent. Maybe it's the angle, bent in half with your ass up and your legs closed. Maybe it's just how overwrought you are already. Maybe...fuck, you don't know, maybe somehow he's even harder than the night before.  All you do know is that he feels so big you can't hardly stand it. It's so much, bridging the gap between pleasure and pain until it's just an overwhelming sense of pressure and fullness that has you clenching and fluttering around him. As if your body can't make up its mind if it wants to expel the intrusion or welcome it deeper.

He has no right to feel this good. None. But goddamn it you're so glad he does.

"Fuck," he mutters shakily, fingers biting into your hip. "This what you wanted, honeybee? Huh? This what you been waiting for?"

You can't find the air to give him an answer.  Whiskey's still moving forward, you're not even sure how. Christ how much more of him is there? He leans forward, pushing you into the mattress, pushing down into you until you start to shake, until he hits that buried junction inside you that sends a flare of heat rocketing clear down to your toes and your stalled orgasm rears up again so sudden and so close that it's startling.

Every muscle in your body tenses, straining. The whine that breaks out of your gaping mouth is pitiful. "Shit, oh shit, Jesus fuck, Jesus fuck-fuck-fuck-"

He feels it. He must. There's no way he can't. "Oh fuck, that's it honeybee," he croons, working his free hand under you to circle your clit as he sinks that last broad inch into you. "Come on. Come all fuckin' over me."

For a second everything shorts out, all senses lost in a white-out. The only tenuous connection you have to your body lies in the grounding pressure of his cock inside you and the faint but rapid fluttering of his pulse in it. And then you're slamming back to yourself with a ragged cry, blood roaring in your ears and coming so hard that you nearly buck off of him entirely. Your arms flex, bend, bunched cloth digging deeply into your skin until you feel rather than hear the seams rip. And then the tightness is gone, Whiskey's hand unwinding immediately from your shirt to stroke up and down your back.

There's a lump in your throat when you finally find enough air to speak: "T-t-two."

Whiskey groans. "Beautiful.  Fuck, you shake so pretty when you come for me. I could watch you do that all night. Might just, at that."  He drags the torn wreck of your blouse off you, popping the clasp on your bra and bending to place an open, humid kiss in the valley along your spine.

He rocks forward and back, one hand clamped into soft flesh at your hip, humming tunelessly. "Been wantin' to bury myself back in this sweet pussy from the minute I woke up.  Ain't been able to think of nothin' else. Just this," he says, drawing back slowly before burying himself to the hilt and rolling his hips against you.

You clamp your teeth down on your lip, fighting the haze. It's hard to swallow. Hard to breathe. But he's rolling into you slow, far too fucking slow.  And that isn't what you need. You try to push yourself up on your elbows, but he thrusts forward, a little more force in it this time, and your arms give out.  

"Ha-harder," you pant, voice thick and muffled by the quilt. You turn your head, claw the hair out of your face. "F-fuck me harder, god-d-d-damn it. Make me fuckin' feel it tomorrow. Big-dicked b-bastard, oh my God, don't you stop."

He breathes out a laugh, folding over your back. The pressure against your tender ass stings like hell, and you hitch in a hissing gasp as Whiskey's mouth finds your cheek. He kisses you, or does his best to. The angle is strange and your face is half-smashed against the bed, but his mouth slants over the side of yours, tongue dragging against your lips until you open for him, letting him lick against the sharp points of your teeth.  

"Careful what you wish for, honeybee," he whispers, grinding forward in a maddening circle. "Words like that will get you in a whole mess of trouble."

The air leaves you in a whooping rush as he stands, dragging you up against his chest, your back bowing to try and keep the searing length of him pressed where you need it. And then – ah god – his hand is around your throat and his teeth are sinking into your shoulder, and you're suddenly glad he can't see the way your eyes flutter and roll back.  

Not that he even needs to see it, because just then Whiskey groans into your skin as a rush of wetness courses down his cock.

"Fuck, is it that good, baby? Hm?" His voice quavers as his body impacts yours like a sledgehammer. "My dick finding all the sweet spots in that pretty little pussy for you?"

You grapple at him, find where he clings to you and grip his hands, inadvertently encouraging him to press his hand just a little harder against your throat. And there goes the room again, looping and floating as he starts to move, really move, driving forward harder and harder. You stumble, going up on your toes, some choked and desperate noise caught in your throat somewhere under his hand. Sparks pop behind your eyes, faint and wavering like fireworks reflected on choppy waters. And then the pressure eases, air rushing into your lungs once again. The fire in your belly flares up at it like a backdraft.  

"M-more," you grate out. "Oh f-fucking God please more.  D-don't...d-d-don't-"

"Don't you worry, baby.  Ain't gonna stop," he mutters harshly against your ear.  "I'll give you all you want. Ain't stopping 'til you tell me to stop."

You shake your head, or at least try to, the movement restricted by his hand. "N-no. Never. Fuck, never-never stop. Right there f-fuck-"

Whiskey growls out something low and broken and unintelligible as you clamp down on him, your body chasing that bright, blazing heat whether you want it to or not.

"Oh fuck, are you comin' again for me already, angel? Shit, you are, aren't you? Got yourself all riled up today and now you just can't stop. C'mon then, baby. Come on my dick. You feel like fuckin' heaven when you come. Pussy's so good it oughtta be fuckin' blasphemy. C'mon, honeybee, do it for me, come like you fuckin' mean it-"

Before you can breathe a word it hits you and it hits you hard, muscles seizing up so tight it's like they're trying to wring the pleasure out of you. You ride through maybe three or four near-blinding shocks of it and then your knees, traitorous things, finally give out underneath you. The only thing that keeps you up is Whiskey's arms wrapped tight around you, clutching you to him, suspending you on his dick as it grinds up brutally against your g-spot.

"Got you, honeybee," he grunts, rhythm never faltering. "I got you.  Keep comin' for me, baby, keep comin'."

And god help you, you are. You're still quivering, still coming, and then his hand falls away from your neck to cup against your sex, palm flat against the rigid little knot of your clit. He doesn't even rub, it's just a heat and a pressure and it's like your whole body stutters upward, launching towards a second, higher peak. Whiskey lets out a broken groan against your neck as you bear down on him so hard it nearly hurts and you wail at the unexpected, overwhelming force of it.

Everything spins off and away in the aftermath, senses blown out like a bad circuit. Sounds are swallowed up in a high, persistent ringing. You haven't got the strength to force your eyes back open. There's a shift and a feeling of soft cloth beneath you and when the haze starts to lift you find you're on your knees on the bed, shoulders down and ass up with Whiskey draped over your back. He murmurs things against your cheek, your ear, your neck.  You can't hear a word of it over the ringing in your ears.

You turn your head, knocking your forehead against his by accident. "Thr- I- f-four?"  Your voice jumps in your throat, but you can't quite make it steadier. "I...I don't-"

"Honeybee," he drawls, his cock giving a hard, desperate twitch inside you. He grins at you indulgently, gathering your hair up in one broad hand and pulling. "Good girl."

A shudder goes through you as you realize he's still fucking you. Deep, swift strokes that send tingles sparking through you. He drags his cock out of you and drives it back in, pulling it over your blazingly sensitive nerve endings like a bow over violin strings. Like it's a privilege to do it. Like it'd be a fucking crime to stop.

He drags two more orgasms out of you like this. Shuddering, slow-building things that overtake you like flood waters, rising up with an aching, consuming crawl unmindful of the pounding pace Whiskey holds to like a clockwork battering ram. It's only when you gasp out a broken cry of "S-sih-s-six!" that Whiskey's hips finally begin to falter, stuttering and slowing at the feeling of your overworked pussy milking his cock again. His grip on you tightens as he tries to steady himself, tries to hold on, groaning his own restrained pleasure through gritted teeth.

"Tight - fuck!  Goddamn it girl you get so fucking tight when you come. So fuckin' wet. Sweet Jesus. I don't know how m-much more of that I can fuckin' take."

"God, fuck, do it, just do it," you whine, reaching back for him with hands that can't stop shaking. "C'mon Jack."

He laughs at that, but it's a little frayed and frantic at the edges. He brushes the hair out of your face, working his fingers into it and giving it a tug. "I – ungh! Oh s-shit – I got... your p-permission this time, honeybee?"

You hum, nodding, and hitch in a breath as he grinds in particularly deep. "Please."

His rhythm falters again, hips canting suddenly at a hard angle. "W-where? Fuck, fuck, where do you want me, baby? Hurry."

"In-inside. Inside me. 'S what you wanted last night?  Right?"

Whiskey makes a broken sound, lurching against you. "Y-yeah. Oh shit, yes. Jesus fucking Christ, honeybee."

Growling, he flips you over and slides in deep, pushing your knees up almost to your shoulders and staring raptly down at your face even as his own contorts. The length of him inside you stiffens even more, pushing in so deep his hipbones grind painfully against your own.

And then he breaks with a cry, his whole body locking up with the force of his climax.  His head drops between your breasts and his back arches high, fists punching deep divots into the mattress on either side of you. He rocks through it, jerking at every pulse and spasm, and you can't help but shiver at the warmth that pools inside you as he comes.

"Fuck, fuck. Nngh, ho-holy shit." He almost says more, but another tremor wracks his body and it chokes off into a broken mess of Spanish - "¿Que chingas me estás haciendo a mi mujer?"

Winded and boneless, you scratch your nails weakly across his scalp, working your fingers down his neck to his shoulders.  "Better be a compliment."

"You have no idea," he pants open-mouthed against your skin.  Instead of elaborating he just eases himself out of you and crawls his way down, trailing his mouth over your skin until he's settled between your legs, staring at whatever disaster he's made of you and groaning softly in appreciation.

Take a picture, you almost say, it'll last longer. But before you can work up the air and energy to put breath to the quip he's drawing his tongue against you, cleaning up the mess he's made with a desperate, greedy reverence that sets your knees trembling on either side of his head.

Whimpering, you clamp your lower lip in your teeth, shuddering up against the warm heat of Whiskey's mouth.  "Careful," you warn.  "Oh, G-God, careful."

The only answer you get is a low moan and the feeling of his fingers sinking diligently back into your cunt, coaxing out the trickling remnants of his orgasm.

A high, lazy heat begins to build again, over-sensitivity easing back into something warm and sweet and giddily aching.  Your hands cradle the back of Whiskey's head, carding through his sweat-soaked hair as he licks his own come out of you. It's not a thing you've ever really given much thought before – bodily fluids were always more an incidental part of sex for you than anything else – and you're not sure if he's enjoying the act itself or just the strange submissive edge of it.  Curiosity gets the better of you and you glance down at him, expecting to see him staring intently up at you over the rise of your mons, gloating over the state he's put you in.  Fuck, he's made you come so many times you're sure he'll never let you forget it.

Only he isn't.  His eyes are closed, face lax with a blissful intoxication as he tastes himself inside you, holding your thighs up and apart to let him work his tongue and fingers in deeper.  The sight of him so clearly lost in the moment, not goading or gloating, just rapturously gone is maybe the single most erotic thing you've seen in your whole life. And that sweet, lazy heat suddenly licks up to a blaze.

The sudden clench you give is impossible to miss from Whiskey's vantage point, and he groans against you.  "One more, honeybee," he almost pleads, breaking away from you with a sucking pop just long enough to gasp air.  "You can gimme one more, can't you? I know you can. C'mon baby. Lucky seven."

He lowers his head once more with a decadent hum and you throw yours back as he sets to more deliberate work, hooking his arms around your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.  

"God, you greedy b-bastard," you rasp out.  The stimulation to your worn nerves leaves you quaking, wriggling underneath him.  You're not sure you can stand another one, but a deep, hungry part of you is desperate to find out.  

He growls at that, more in agreement than in offense, and when your hands scrabble at his he parries them without even glancing up, seizing your wrists and yanking you down even tighter against his mouth.

You nearly kick him in the ribs when you come.  It's not your fault. Honestly it's his for working you up to this point.  To this high, nervous overload that's barely left you any control over your body.  It doesn't seem to faze him, though.  Your heel glances off his side as your shaking legs lock around his back and he just keeps going, like he hasn't even noticed, like he isn't even here.  Like the world has spun down smaller and smaller and the only thing left is his mouth and your cunt and leaving that would mean the end of everything.

But it's too much.  Goddamn it, it's too much.

You sob, wrench your hands out of his grip and push at his head. "S-s-seven.  Sev-seven.  F-f-fuck, Jack.  No more, n-no more, please, stop, I can't, I can't– "

He's pulling away before you even finish, pressing one last biting kiss against your thigh before crawling shakily over you to put his mouth to yours with a surprising gentleness. The taste on his lips is heady, musky and sharp. His arms tremble at the strain of keeping himself from slumping over on top of you, gasping raggedly between each kiss like they’re just as necessary as air.

For the longest time you can’t even move, you’re far too wrung out and exhausted to even try.  All you can do is lie underneath him and do your best to remember how to breathe between slow, lazy kisses.  Eventually you work up enough breath to speak. "'M sorry," you whisper hoarsely.

Whiskey shakes his head, trying to focus his eyes.  "What for?"

"'Two minutes and a cigarette.'" You bring up a hand, patting his cheek with an awkward bonk. "I stand corrected"

A look of comical confusion takes over his face, brows knitting together, until he finally remembers the jab you'd made after you'd tied him up the night before. "Shit," is all he says before he dissolves into giddy laughter.  His arms finally give out on him and he rolls to keep from toppling onto you.  

You roll with him, tucking your head into his shoulder and giggling. It aches. The muscles in your abdomen so overworked that even laughing hurts, but somehow that just makes it funnier.

You’ve nearly composed yourselves when Whiskey tries to prop himself up on an elbow that immediately slides out from under him and almost smacks you in the head, and that just sets you both off all over again.  Giving up entirely, you just lay there, shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing like a couple of punch-drunk loons.

"You hungry, honeybee?” Whiskey asks breathlessly when he’s got himself back under some semblance of control. “I could eat a goddamn horse."

Now that he mentions it you realize just how long ago lunch was, and your appetite, which had so far taken a backseat to both your temper and libido, roars back to life. "God yeah, actually.  'M fuckin' starving."

So for the second time today, you get room service on Whiskey's dime. Or his employer’s dime, he insists.  You're not sure if that's better or worse.  It's a little ridiculous.  Even more so when you think to look for a clock and realize just how late it is, but you're absolutely famished and the second he's on the phone asking in a pleasantly fuck-drunk voice for a couple hamburgers and french fries you're stomach's growling so insistently you're almost certain the staff on the other end of the line heard it.

He's chuckling as he hangs up the phone, draping over you to nuzzle into your neck.  For the first time you notice just how much his mustache tickles, and you squirm under him, giggling all over again.

"Love me a woman with an appetite," he mumbles, nipping playfully at you.

"God, what the fuck are we doing?" you stutter out through your giggles.  It's not meant to be a real question. You’re practically a space cadet right now, and you can’t remember the last time you were this giddy after sex. But Whiskey shifts a little, pulling back to look down at you, and you can't quite parse the look on his face. "Never had a one-night-stand like this before.”

"Hm." He drops his head a bit, tapping an idle finger against your collarbone. "Think the repeat offense kinda cancels out the one-night-stand idea, honeybee."

"You didn't strike me as the repeating kind."

"Mm. Didn't strike you as the kind who could hold his dick up for longer'n a minute, either.  So I'll try not to take offense at your continued misjudgment of my character."  His eyes wander away from yours, pulling up his well-worn crooked smile with some degree of effort. "But if you're looking for a polite way to tell this old man you've had your fill, there ain't no need to beat around the bush about it."

You might've appreciated the easy out once.  After tonight, though, you're almost offended at it. You're not in the habit of begging for things you only have a mind to dispose of. A little of that flighty panic starts to take hold, and you tamp it down. Fun. This is just for fun. Even if you do want a little more. Fuck, don’t start overthinking it now.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, and it's only the curiosity in your voice that keeps it from sharpening into an accusation.

Whiskey shakes his head, a bit of incredulity in his eyes. "What I want...shit, what I want is to get me somethin' nice an' artery-clogging to eat and then get some fuckin' sleep. Preferably next to the woman who has fucked me ragged two nights running, if she happens to be amenable to that kind of thing. That's as far as my wants go right this second."

The deflection is so clumsy it’s almost funny. “Chickenshit,” you mutter.

Whiskey blinks down at you, shocked for a moment before you give him a teasing smile. “Fuckin’ comedian,” Whiskey says, snorting laughter.  “Ain’t no softening that tongue of yours, is there?”

“You never know.” You shift a little, heart hammering as you consider your next words. "How much longer are you going to be here?"

The crooked smile slips, becoming softer.  "Well.  That sorta depends on you, honeybee.  My work's all wrapped up.  But if you're gonna be around a bit longer and are lookin' for a bit of company I might be convinced to stay a bit longer."

You feel the smile creep up on your face before you can stop it.  "I wouldn’t mind a little continued reprieve from corporate hell. Under one condition," you insist, waving a finger at him.

Schooling his face into a parody of gravitas, he nods expectantly. Proceed.

"I need to know something first.  Some things. Plural."

He cocks an eyebrow.  "How many is plural?"

You consider for a second, squinting.  "Three."

"All right," he says, resting his chin against your shoulder.  "Fire away."

You pop out your thumb.  "Are you a serial killer?"

He stares at you for a long, silent beat before his eyes slip closed and he shakes his head, his chest hitching with stifled laughter. "No, honeybee, I am not now nor have I ever been a serial killer."

You nod, grinning. "Okay, one down.” You pop out your pointer finger. “Are you married?"

The levity bleeds out of his face with a swiftness that makes you regret the question instantly, sure he's about to drop a bombshell directly on your head that's going to leave you hating him and yourself.  But he shakes his head, holds up his ringless left hand as if in proof, as though nobody having an affair would've ever thought to slip a ring off beforehand.  But then, very quietly, he adds: "Was. But not for a long time."

You nod dumbly, mutter, "Okay.”

For a second you wonder if you should apologize – you’ve clearly tripped on something raw by accident – but then he's poking you in the ribs and drawing in a sharp breath.  "And number three?"

A little grateful, you pop out your middle finger ask your last question: "What do you do?  What do you really do?"

The corner of his mouth gives a twitch.  "Shit, is that all?  Well.  Officially, I'm a businessman.  I own a sizable amount of shares in the Statesman distillery company. Which, incidentally, is where that fine stock of bourbon whiskey came from," he adds.

You lean back, eyeing him carefully.  You don't think he's lying.  And yet....

Your fingers find the catch of a scar against his ribs.  "You're scarred to shit for a liquor tycoon, cowboy."

The twitch turns into a grin.  "I have been known to get a little rough-and-tumble once in a while."

"I don't know if I believe that story any more than I did the James Bond bullshit."

Whiskey huffs a laugh.  His jeans are in a puddle at the end of the bed and he drags them up, pulling out a thick leather wallet out of the back pocket.  From one of the compartments he pulls a business card embossed in gold and black and hands it to you.  

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels, Statesman Distillery, Kentucky.

You blink at it, giggling a little.  "Jesus Christ that is actually your name?"

"More or less.  Been Anglicized for flavor, among other things."

"What was it before?"

There's an odd sharpness in his eyes when he looks at you, a shrewdness you'd never have expected from the costume cowboy you'd met down in the bar.  For a moment you're sure that not only is he not going to answer, but that you've overstepped a line you weren't even aware existed.

"That's four questions," he says, "not three."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," you add with a tilt of your head.

The corner of his mouth curls slightly, and the sharpness fades.  "Well now, how can I resist that a bargain like that?" He pauses a moment, as if reconsidering, then adds: "It was Joaquin."

"Joaquin?"

"Mm." He nods. There's only a moment of quiet before he tilts his hips to the side, jostling you. "C'mon, darlin. A deal's a deal."

You roll your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. And you tell him your name.  He repeats it back, and you don't need to see his face to know he's smiling.

"Pleasure to meet you," he says.  "Literally."

"Jackass."

#agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #citrus variations #spicy spicy content babes #I really didn't mean for this to end up this long but here we are I guess #ao3 version and fic masterlist will be updated shortishly

[wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse]

Wishes (Aragorn x Fem!reader)

Word Count: 2207 Warnings: ANGST

AHHH OK so this fic was made in collaboration with @hey-its-nonny and it was so fun to write!

You woke in a restored Gondor, eyes fluttering open at the beams of golden sunlight seeping through your window. The day you‘d dreaded for months had finally come. It was the day Aragorn was to be wed to his love, Arwen.

You rose, already mourning your loss of your friend and your love. You didn’t know how you could stay, concealed in the dark. Hiding. Ignoring your emotions and acting as if they didn’t exist was a difficult task. But, if it meant Aragorn would be happy, you would try your best, unsure of what might come of it.

Slowly, you slid on your dress, the silky fabric brushing your legs. It was a beautiful gown, one that Arwen had made especially for you. It fit perfectly, snug around your waist and flaring out. In your favorite color, too.

The necklace Aragorn had given you laid heavily on your neck. It felt wrong to be wearing it to this event, but without it, you didn't feel whole.

And with a look in the mirror, you sighed, a saddened smile gracing your lips while you prepared yourself for what would be one of the saddest days of your life.

You thought back to a better time when everything was easier. When your love for Aragorn had bloomed.

It was a cold night. You and Aragorn had gone on yet another adventure together through the hours of the night. After plenty of frolicking and distractions, you’d both agreed that it was time to eat.

You’d decided a warm soup was the way to go, and Aragorn agreed with you on that as well. And while you waited for your meals, you talked around pointless things, avoiding the affection that was blossoming.

You were teasing him, pushing him around, baiting him. When he finally retaliated, he accidentally hit your soup out of your hands. The target for the food? your clothes. Your shirt was covered, and you stifled a laugh while Aragorn looked mortified.

You winced a bit at how hot your soup was, as well as the fact that you could no longer eat it, since it was so elegantly spilled on your shirt.

“Y/N, I am so sorry. Here, let me- I can-” The poor man rambled, looking for a cloth to dry your shirt. You couldn’t help but giggle at how flustered he was, though the fiery wrath of the soup was definitely a contender for your attention.

Yet still, you laughed, opening your bag with a hum. “Aragorn, I’m sure I have a spare shirt in my pa- What? Where is it?” You quietly gasped, Aragorn’s eyes brightening.

“Take mine, Y/N. I have a spare.” He stated, the red on his cheeks dissipating.

Your gentle hands gingerly grasped the shirt as you stood, sharply inhaling at the temperature of the soup. “I’ll be back.”

After a minute or two, you walked over to the table and sat down, cozier than ever in Aragorn’s off-white shirt. You offered a smile and caught Aragorn’s eye, his shocked expression warming your cheeks. “It is a little big, I will admit, but it will do until I get a fresh change of clothing.” You grinned, biting back a smile.

“Keep it.” Aragorn smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the slightest and sweetest of ways. “It looks better on you than it looked on me.” He stated, inhaling a breath after stealing another glance at you.

You still had that shirt, after all the time that passed.

Those were fond memories you had of him, but fleeting. You smoothed your dress down and slipped on your shoes. Another memory came to haunt you, the emotions overwhelming.

You were wandering Rivendell when you heard a giggle. You had turned a corner, finding Aragorn, his lips glued to Arwen’s. You cleared your throat, causing them to break apart, looking at you sheepishly.

Arwen spoke softly, “Oh, I am sorry about that. We didn’t know anyone else would come here.” Of course, she didn’t know that Aragorn and you had spent many hours in this same place. You avoided his gaze and hid your emotion, laughing instead.

“Oh I have so many things I could say, but most important of all, I could tell everyone!” You paraded around them, joking of course. They laughed along, not truly seeing how much this hurt you. And you would keep it that way.

The decorations were beautiful. You gazed upon the arch that Aragorn was to be wed under, trailing down the cascading vines and flowers. You counted at least a hundred guests.

If it weren’t for the emotions you felt at the moment, you might have smiled just because of how beautiful everything looked.

The bells rang, signifying that the ceremony would start soon, and you took a sharp breath. Your stomach churned like you were about to face the armies of Mordor alone. But it wasn’t the time to be afraid. It was time to be Aragorn’s friend.

The very man that your thoughts were formed around jogged up to you, handsome as ever. His armor contrasted his eyes beautifully, and the smile he wore made you melt.

“Y/N. Just the woman I wished to see.” He grinned, placing a hand on your shoulder while you returned the smile.

You hummed, straightening your back. “What do you need?” You asked, ready to do whatever he needed.

“A friend.” He replied, indicating that he was nervous.

“You’ll be fine, Aragorn.” You smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Everything will go smoothly, I assure you.”

The man nodded, a dreadful sigh escaping his lips once the bells rang again. Of all the things you’d said today, the three words that left your lips were some of the hardest to get out. “Go get her.”

Once everyone was settled, the ceremony began with Elrond giving Arwen away. You watched Aragorn closely, the way his eyes lit up when Arwen was unveiled, the pure love and devotion he had for her nearly killing you. You had no idea it would be this hard. Tears pricked at your eyes when they kissed and you were glad you could blame it on the “beauty” of the moment.

You watched Aragorn lead Arwen down the aisle, each step a dagger in your chest. No matter how strong you wanted to be for Aragorn, you couldn’t watch this any longer. Your strained smile slowly disappeared as they walked out of sight. You had to get out of there.

So, when he wasn’t looking, you quietly slipped away, allowing the tears to finally fall. What you didn’t know, however, was that he saw you walk away, more confused and worried than ever.

Once you were far enough, you broke into a sprint. You needed to get as far away from there as fast as you could. You slipped your shoes off, the cold and roughness of the stone adding to your anguish. Upon reaching the garden, you sobbed, collapsing onto the stone ground where you once stood. You couldn’t control it. Your shoulders softly shook as you cried, feeling nothing but sorry for yourself. You thought you could watch Aragorn give a special part of himself to Arwen. You really did. But you couldn’t.

And you hated yourself for it. You held your head in your hands, sniffling quietly into the silence. You never got to tell him how much better he made you. You never got to hug him as Arwen would. You never got to laugh at his flirtatious jokes like Arwen would be able to. You never got to kiss him as Arwen would. But then again, why would he ever kiss someone like you? You weren’t even half as pretty as her.

Too lost in your own sorrow, you didn’t hear Aragorn’s footsteps approaching. Something about rangers, they always knew how to stay quiet and test the situation. Upon seeing you, he removed his crown, kneeling beside you with worry written on his sharp features. “Y/n? Y/n, why are you upset?” The worried man asked, gently grasping your trembling shoulders.

You flinched under the touch, shrinking away from the touch. “It is nothing, Mellon. Please, go be with yo- Arwen. Were you not just betrothed?” You asked, wiping away the salty teardrops on your cheeks.

While you stood to leave, Aragorn mimicked your actions, blocking your exit. “Y/n, please. I only wish to help,” He pleaded, following your gaze. He gently grabbed your chin, sending a shiver down your spine while he forced you to look at him.

“Aragorn, please let me go.” You sniffled, lip quivering while your eyes begged him to leave.

Aragorn frowned, giving one final attempt at helping you. He couldn’t know. He could never know. “Was it Arwen? Gandalf? I do not know what could have upset you in such a way.” He frowned, brow creased in worry.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. No more games, or guessing, or hiding from it. You’d tried so hard, only for it all to come crashing down in flames before your eyes. “It’s you, Aragorn!” You cried, hot tears streaming down your cheeks while throwing your hands out.

You laughed a sad laugh, backing away from the man you’d loved for countless years. “It’s always been you.” You croaked weakly, your voice brittle and defeated. Aragorn was still confused. He cautiously stepped forward, taking your hands in his own. “Y/n, what do you mean?” He asked, clearly worried that he’d hurt you in some way.

You shook your head, biting your lip while you trained your gaze on the ground. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just-” You smiled, shaking your head as you met his gaze. “Just go be with her. You need to be with her.”

But instead of walking away, Aragorn shook his head. “Y/n, we cannot keep circling amongst each other like this. Please, tell me what I’ve done to hurt you.” He pleaded, worry and remorse engraved in his expression.

You took a shaky breath, tearing up once again. “I can’t, Aragorn.” You admitted, the cost of saying the words far more than you were willing to give. “If I do, I will have to leave.” You choked, willing away the tears.

Aragorn sighed, determination set in his jaw. “Whatever you are facing, Y/n, whatever comes, I will face it beside you.” He stated, confidence and truth behind the words. You hated how perfect he was. Always an amazing friend, but not for much longer.

Finally, after a minute of silence, you decided that if you were going to leave Gondor for the rest of your days, you might as well make it memorable. “Forgive me, Aragorn.” You pleaded, leaning in to steal a kiss from Aragorn.

He hummed in surprise, but didn’t back away, eyes fluttering shut. You relished in the feeling, your hand on his warm, stubbly cheek. It was incredible. Until the both of you realized what was happening. You gasped, backing away from the kiss. “I-“ You stammered, quickly going into a panic. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” You breathed, stumbling out of the garden.

You felt like such an idiot. All of the nights wasted in tears rushing back to haunt you as you ran away from the love you’d held onto so dearly. You ran as fast as you could for the forest, clutching the necklace Aragorn had given you. Habit.

Little did you know, Aragorn decided to run after you, desperate to clean up the mess you’d made. You ran, skillfully weaving throughout the trees to lose Aragorn.

Once you thought you were far enough, you leaned against a tree, dirt marks along your arms and legs. That was the last time you would ever see Aragorn. You wasted it. So, you cried. Then you decided you would move on. Start over.

Aragorn approached, careful not to startle you. You looked up, resting your head against the tree with an irritated sigh. “I can’t stay.” You whispered, your defeated tone letting Aragorn know just how much of a toll this took on you.

Aragorn frowned, the glisten of a tear catching your eye. “Why? We can forget it happened, Y/n. We can make this right.” He suggested, a pleading in his voice that you’d only heard a handful of times. It hurt.

“We can’t. I have to leave.” You replied, forcing yourself to look at him. “I love you, Aragorn. I always have and will. Nothing can ever change that. So, unless you have miraculously realized that it is not Arwen, but me you love, which I highly doubt, I’m leaving.” You explained, standing with a sigh, knowing Aragorn would try to follow.

He stood, watching while you unclasped the necklace Aragorn gave you. “Goodbye, Aragorn.” You spoke defeatedly, gently grasping his hands to place the necklace in them.

“Y/n, anything you wish, I will do. Just stay.” He asked one final time, slow tears falling down his cheeks.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiping away his tears with your thumb. “I wish I were Arwen.” And with that, you walked away, thankful that Aragorn didn’t try to follow.

taglist: @lady-latte

#Aragorn #aragorn x reader #lotr #lotr writing

[the-chick-of-the-air]

Hello my lovelies!!

Ok let me just start by saying- 600 followers?! Are you kidding?? Thank you all SO much! I can’t even begin to describe how grateful I am to have every single one of you interested enough in my blog to be following me! Thank you thank you thank you!!!🥰🥰

Now I’m gonna repay you by breaking your hearts!

This is my first try at anything super angsty, so if your gonna yell at me afterwards please feel free to do so in the comments or in my ask box or even just reblogging and cursing me in the tags🤣 please let me know what you think!

TW: Major character death, mentions of vomiting and allusions to body mutilation- nothing graphic just vaguely indicated but whatever you are comfortable with is up to you! If any of what I warned makes you uncomfortable please don’t read! Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction!

Update: I’m sorry- I posted this and for some reason the tag list wasn’t working but it should be now! If your username has changed please let me know so I can tag you properly down below!❤️

Summary: Someone important dies. Cardan deals with it. Grab your tissues❤️

Final Resting Place

“I’m…I’m so sorry.” The folk are not in the habit of apologizing, much less for something that is so common. It matters not, Cardan has ceased listening, has heard nothing after The Bomb uttered those damning words.

Jude is dead.

He recalls, distantly, a time when Nicasia drug him halfway to her underwater kingdom, wishing to show him its beauty and splendor. He recalls how helpless he felt, how he could breathe but it wasn’t right. How he was silenced and the pressure from the water was crushing his chest so painfully it didn’t matter if he could breathe or not.

This feels near exactly like that.

“Your Highness?” Someone is asking a question he doesn’t hear. He doesn’t even ask them to repeat themselves. All he can do is state,

“She is to be brought back here. Burned on the pyres.” A Queen’s funeral. The only funerals the folk bothered to observe.

Someone, The Roach, likely, grunts in disapproval, “She… we…are not able to bring the body back. It was…”

Cardan isn’t sure what part of that statement makes his stomach churn the worst, the fact that they just referred to his wife, their queen as a body, or the fact that there apparently isn’t too much of her body to bring back.

He tries not to think, not to guess at what death was so brutal that she doesn’t even have a body left.

And that really is it, isn’t it? She, his fierce, vibrant, deadly queen, who always looked over her shoulder, is- was always so cautious, secretly ruling over a land that was designed to kill her, the mighty Jude Duarte, slayer of the folk-

Killed by something mortal.

In the mortal lands.

Where he sent her.

It was almost laughable, Cardan did laugh. Hysteria bubbling up in his chest like bile, which it might have been because suddenly the churning in his stomach was no longer violent but imminent and he’s throwing himself into the bathing chamber.

He doesn’t hear the court of shadows, her court of shadows, retreating as he retches into the chamber pot.

~.~

Time has lost all meaning.

It’s been days, weeks, months. The days pass in a blur, marked only by those who knew what she meant to him coming to give their condolences. Like it could lessen the pain of her being gone. Lessen the pain that came with the knowledge that this was his fault.

It was so ironic it hurt. Had he not exiled her to the mortal lands for her protection, she would have still been alive, ruling where she belonged, right by his side.

And now, she would never get to rule her kingdom openly. She would never share his throne, his crown, his name, his bed again.

She was gone before he got to have her.

And it was his own damn fault.

He refused to hold any audience with Taryn. It wasn’t fair, her twin was dead and she was parading around wearing her face. He knew that should he take one look at her, he would break beyond recognition.

The only thing keeping him alive on the throne being Jude’s memory, how she would have wanted, commanded him to keep ruling, even if she wasn’t there to do it with him.

He did allow an audience with Viviane, once. She had all but demanded it and would hardly take no for an answer. She arrived, eyes puffy and bloodshot, looking as terrible as he felt which didn’t seem fair either.

He wanted to be alone in his pain, for it to be all his own, because no one could understand, could relate to how he felt for her. Why should they share in his grief? The newest plate of armor he has cast over his heart?

She wasted no time on condolences, which in itself was strangely comforting. She got straight to the point, “You missed the funeral.”

“A mortal tradition.” His voice was hoarse with disuse. Had he gone so long without speaking to anyone? That didn’t seem possible.

“Dammit Cardan! She would have wanted you there.” Her anger was refreshing, a nice change of pace compared to the complete emptiness that was left behind in the shape of a mortal footprint upon his heart.

He almost wants to disagree, but that would make no sense. The folk can’t lie, not even half-fae.

When he doesn’t respond, Vivi crosses her arms, “Will you at least come visit her? Say your goodbyes? You have to say yes, we both know you need it.”

And painful as it was, she was right. The one thing that hurt worse than Jude being dead, knowing that it was because of him, was that he didn’t get to say goodbye. That all his letters to her went unanswered. That she died without knowing how much he needed her. How much he missed her and all she was to him. How much he…

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he silently rises and follows Vivi to his queen’s final resting place.

~.~

The mortal world is bright and loud and reeks of iron and is so alive it feels audacious. How dare anyone else continue living when someone from this place, someone so important, so above them was forced to forfeit that right?

The plot of land where she- what’s left of her- is laid to rest is small. The headstone sits, new and clean, next to two more that are dulled with age.

Justin and Eva Duarte.

Madoc had somehow procured graves for the two mortals he slaughtered, and now their youngest daughter lay beside them.

They are standing there for ten minutes before Vivi speaks, “You know, when someone visits the grave of someone they love, they usually look at it.” Her voice is monotone as she stares at the slab of stone sitting at the head of a patch of newly sprouted grass.

He’s not sure he can. If he looks, if he sees there is in fact a final stop, a final holding place for this restless mortal, then he will know it is real. That this wasn’t all some elaborate trick or punishment of her own making to get back at him for her banishment.

Foolish as it is, that was a dark hope buried deep inside him. That she was really still there, biding her time, waiting until he was just ruined enough to waltz back into his life to teach him a well deserved lesson. Perhaps on gratitude, on not taking things for granted.

It would be such a Jude thing to do.

A hand rests on his shoulder and he nearly flinches away, “I’ll give you a minute.”

Her footsteps recede, utterly fae and silent. So unlike the ones he desperately wishes to hear a final time.

It takes him maybe two minutes more for his eyes to finally find the headstone. He is shocked to find he can barely read what is inscribed upon it through tears that have filled his eyes.

Jude Duarte-Greenbriar

Beloved sister and wife

2001-2019

His tears come in earnest, then. How had he never known she took his name as well? Had cared enough to do so? Or was this something her sisters did to spite him? He pressed his lips together in an attempt to stifle any sobs trying to break free.

Cautiously, so cautious she would be proud, he runs his fingers over the inscription of her name- their name. When he knows his voice will be steady, he speaks.

“Well, wife.” He presses his eyes closed as a fresh wave of tears pushes at his senses, “I doubt either of us saw it coming to this.” Gently, he tugs something out of the satchel he brought with him.

“It was yours. For you to wear upon your return. For when you came home.” He couldn’t stop his voice from breaking as he carefully laid the crown down at the foot of the headstone, glamoured so mortals would see it as a pile of painted rocks.

“I guess in a way, I got what you thought I wanted. For you to…” He can’t even bring himself to say it. He had never wanted this. When in palace lessons, he thought that dreams plagued with her scent, her voice, her touch had been the most horrid nightmares. He was wrong, this was far worse than any dream he had of her angry face, her soft hair. This was a nightmare terrifying enough to cripple the strongest of men.

“Well. I guess it doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter that I wish I could take back what I said about you in our childhood. That you would return to the earth, worm food.” He shudders, recalling that he had said those things while imagining that they would have followed a long life. One filled with her aging slowly due to living in Elfhame. Secret imaginings he only allowed himself in the darkest hours of the night- ones where he was by her side and they wreaked havoc together for the rest of their long, full lives. His next words are whispered, “I never imagined it would happen so soon.”

His hand returns to the headstone, gripping the cool rock tightly.

There is nothing left to say aside from one final message. Nothing left to do other than leave this place and continue on in his immortality, letting her fade into the backs of everyone’s memory as the Last Mortal Queen.

Taking a final shaky breath, Cardan utters the truth he had spent nearly his whole life repressing, trying to lie his way around. The words he now so desperately wishes he had said to her before he cast her out of their home in hopes of preventing this very thing from happening.

With one final look upon the place his wife, his queen is forever to rest upon, he whispers,

“I love you.”

~.~

Years and years and years later, young children of the gentry sit in their history lessons amongst their mortal classmates, and learn of the beautiful, treacherous life that was led by the Last Mortal Queen, Jude Duarte-Greenbriar

And that is that! Did I make you cry? Do you want to throw crumpled tissues at my head? Let me know!❤️ (I left out details of Jude’s death on purpose, it’s up to your imagination to come up with what happened to her, sorry for pain😬)

Tag list:

As always, please let me know through the comments or my inbox or any other way you are comfortable with and let me know if you wish to be added to my list so you can be alerted to my future works!

@maleckanejnessienjurdansolangelo @woodsbeyond1 @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @thewickedkings @aneurwin @snusbandxknifewife @jurdanhell @andromeddea @dressedindustandshadows @thesirenwashere @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @unidentifiedblackthorn @iminsanenotobsessed @df3ndyr @brittneyal @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @fuzzypineapples-blog @nahthanks @charrise @thefolkofthefic @theviolettulip @embersfromink @kittkatandbooboo

Till next time, loves!🥰

#cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #the cruel prince #tcp #jude x cardan #angst #I’m so sorry #I made myself cry writing this #actually I was fine writing it #but when I reread to edit it #then I cried #if Jude is your comfort character I am SO sorry #fluff to come in the future #I promise #you guys are incredible #a test in seeing how sad I can make my writing before I can’t even write it #the folk of the air #let me know if anyone reads my tags #I think I’m so witty and I hide it in here #aaaaaaaaaangst #no fluff #trigger warning: vomit #trigger warning: major character death #trigger warning: allusions to body mutilations #I’m so sorry Jude #my home girl and I killed her off #ok I gotta stop with the tags or someone is gonna hit me with a shoe #ha! even tumblr wants to him me with a shoe: I reached the tag limit!

[mrskurono]

title: Maybe, I’m Afraid || Takahiro Hanamaki x fem!Reader

a/n: this is self indulgent af bc I want to dance with Makki on my birthday which is today but I’m pretending it’s not today + lovelytheband makes me think of Makki + I ain’t posting anything else all day long

word count: 2.2k

tags: fluff, angsty undertones, friends to lovers trope, casual alcohol consumption, not much just dialog and dancing

character(s): Takahiro Hanamaki (hq)

Dancing in your party dress. 

You were singing me some Frank Sinatra as you wept.

This was swanky. 

Makki admitted this was a pretty spectacular birthday bash. Beat having a few beers at the bar for his birthday. That was his style. And this was your style. It always had been and always would be.

A tug on his tie as he raised the champagne flute for another swig and wandered around. Through crowds of familiar and unfamiliar. Friends and family. Makki knew each face for the most part and why they would be here celebrating your birthday. Even coworkers that he only heard once or twice. 

Everyone seemed so important. So why was he here?

Crowds thinning out. First when they’d separate when the man moved by them. Now Makki looked around to find most of the party guests weren’t around at all. He shrugged though. Figuring Mattsun didn’t mind him wandering around his home as he’d crashed with his bud a few times.

Hum of the music playing downstairs drown out by the chatter and walls. Makki laughed as he ascended to the second story about Mattun’s house being as quiet as a morgue. Jokes aside he didn’t think much of finding anyone up on the back balcony of the giant home. 

After a bit of mingling Makki found himself unable to find you. And the lackluster to parade around with all these people he hardly saw drained him faster than anything. He was here for you but he couldn’t steal your attention away like you were teenagers. Adults didn’t do that. Adults had boundaries. You both were adults now so Makki thought this was fine.

Fine as being alone again was. Makki trailed his fingers along the oaken table top pushed up against the wall of the hallway. Without a fleck of dust of course. He shrugged it off and grabbed at the door handle of the sliding door to let himself out for a breath of fresh air.

Hinted at the sound of the downstairs music drifting upwards. Makki giggled to himself, “Heh, Mattsun getting the cops called on him for being too loud would be-”

“Makki!”

Stopping in his tracks the man whipped around to see your familiar face across the patio. Surely as shocked as he was. Both of you stared at one another for a moment before Makki continued to shut the door much softer now behind him, “What are....why aren’t you downstairs?”

“Why aren’t you downstairs?” You hand his question back, “Did someone send you up here? I thought I asked Mattsun not to say anything and-”

Quickly he shook his head waving your questions away, “No. Mattsun has no idea, I just came up here for some air is all.” He stopped and looked over at the empty champange glass on the edge of the patio, “Do you need another? I can go get you something if you’d-”

“Heh no,” You smile, relaxing back into yourself after he said no one was looking for you, “This stuff gives me heartburn anyways.”

Makki ambled up to the edge of the balcony with you. Seeing a clear view of all the on goings below, “Were you stalking people up here? This would be a great place to drop something from.”

Glancing at the man leaning into the railing next to you. Only a second goes by before you lean into your elbows and gaze out at the backyard with everything going on, “Nah. I wanted to return half this crap anyways when it’s over. Cleaning stains out woulda been too hard.”

He stopped poking fun at the party itself for a second. Chin resting in his palm when he casted a look over in your direction. Instead of the shimmering party hostess he saw coming in earlier. Now all Makki .saw his his best friend slumped into their friend’s deck railing overlooking something that didn’t quite resemble a true party.

“...what’s the deal huh?” Makki’s brow arched up, “This isn’t really your thing. So why the big bash?”

Swallowing a deep breath. Only to be let out in one big sigh. You push off the railing and rock back and forth on your feet childishly, “I dunno...I didn’t want to have a birthday this year.”

“Then don’t have one and do something small?”

“No...I don’t mean the party part.” You stop rocking and settle flat on your feet while looking out at nothing in particular, “I didn’t want to have a birthday....didn’t wanna, think about me I guess.”

“So you threw a giant party?” Makki snorted at the logic.

You shook your head, “No, mom brought it up. Then Mattsun caught wind. Iwa agreed. One thing lead to another. Suddenly there was a party to celebrate ‘me’ and I was placed in the middle of it with a cake to boot.”

Stepping away from the balcony Makki turned around no longer interested in everything going on under the two of you. Instead he leaned back and looked lazily over at you but still with a slight grin, “You certainly look like a cake topper.”

“Shut up,” You add insult to injury when you roll your eyes and push him away from you.

“What, I’m just saying-” Makki shrugged frankly, “You look more like you should be in the middle of those people dancing. Not up here alone with an empty glass.”

For a second you look at the empty champagne glass. A song comes on below. Drowned by the distance. But clearly you can hear what is it. Even if this didn’t feel like your party. The music as yours. Slowly you begin humming softly before looking over at him with a smile, “I’m not alone though. You’re right here.”

He didn’t mean the snort laugh. Makki quickly back tracking to not make it seem so bad, “I mean- I’m just surprised. This seems so swanky. Doesn’t feel like a thing I’d be invited to.”

“Swanky?” You look at him.

“I picked up a word a day calendar.” Makki looks at you, “But I’m still in January.”

“It’s April.”

“Like I said....Swanky.”

Humming softer you don’t look out at the party. Opting to turn around and face up towards the rest of your friend’s nice house. Arms crossed over your bust as you listen carefully to the song below, “...I guess...the playlist is nice. But...I’d rather just be with those I love. Maybe drinking. Maybe dancing. None of this really....that is if I wanted to have a birthday that is.”

Sideways glance in your direction, Makki looked at the one person he might consider his best friend. Aside from Mattsun. You were his partner in crime for so much. Since you were kids. And now you were standing at a party you didn’t like and Makki hadn’t even thought he’d be invited to. How alone did he have to be to feel like this was ok when he was standing right next to you.

“...Maybe I can take you out later. Like- This weekend or something,” Makki shrugged nonchalantly, “You can wear the dress, if you want. But I’m not wearing this stupid suit.”

His offer brought a bit of a grin to your face. Casting your gaze over to him and admiring the fact he was quite dashing in such a get up. Neither of you had been fancied up at the same time since Mattsun’s house warming party over a year ago. And that itself was brief.

“It would be a shame if we both look this good and no one danced with us.” You off handedly comment.

Again Makki’s brow raises, “Birthday girl should go snag a dance then.”

“Nah,” You toss a look back down behind you, “I don’t want to dance with anyone down there.”

Makki snorted, “Iwa might be in the bathroom.”

“Nah Iwa has two left feet.”

“Mattsun had his shoes shined for this. They’re as clean as that table in the hallway.”

“Mattsun is a left foot.”

“Nice.” Makki high fived you for the zinger. His laugh short lived though as he looked at you even as you were distracted elsewhere, “...Don’t know what time it is in Argentina but who knows Skype Oikawa and he might give you a dance.”

The sentiment was nice. Really each of your friends would have danced with you if you asked. After all these years you still considered them some of your closest friends. But none of them where who you thought about when you imagined a dance a top a balcony in the midst of a party.

“You talk too much.” You break away to find Makki staring at you, “But I don’t care. I like listening to you.”

Makki’s lopsided smile didn’t fade but he looked down with a little shrug, “Maybe I’m just afraid of saying the wrong thing so I keep talking.”

“Well.” You looked up at him, “If you could say something that scares you, what would it be?”

Tongue held. Makki had a few. Ok, a lot. But seeing you stand in front of him with the gentle melody of the music drifting upwards. He really only thought of one.

“Will you dance with me? If I weren’t afraid of saying anything that is.”  You step closer to him. Closing the gap between the two of you as one hand found his. With ease your fingers laced with his like they always had in the past. Makki gave your hand a squeeze and looked at you, “And if you could say something you’re afraid of?”

You look up at him, “I’d ask you to dance with me.”

“Not a better party?” Makki quips.

“A better party would mean dancing with you.”

He can’t help the softening smile playing on his lips. Makki is certain he can feel his heartbeat in his throat now but it’s all to be pushed aside when he pulls you into him. 

Arms wrapped around your shoulders in the longest hug. You share in the gesture when your arms loop under his armpits. Nice and snug. It takes less time to find you both swaying to the hum of the music than it did for you to embrace one another.

“...it’s been a little hard.” Makki mutters, lips pressed to the top of your head.

“...I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” You reply quietly. Hugging him tighter as your cheek presses against the warm button of his shirt. You can feel his warmth under the layers of faux look.

“What are you talking about?” Makki pulled away a little offended to hear such a thing, “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my friend.”

The smile you first had dips to a frown, “...we stopped talking so much. It felt like we lost touch...I guess, running away from my birthday. I thought I could go back to being your friend.”

“You have always been my friend,” He shakes his head, expressing a little more concern than he meant to as he squeezed you tighter, “It’s been a little tough. Loosing my job. Finding another. It’s been tough. I- I didn’t want you to be embarrassed by me. I thought I shouldn’t stay. That’s why-” He stopped, embarrassing himself all over again, “-that’s why I came up here. I was thinking about leaving so you could have your party.”

“Takahiro,” He never realized how weird his named sounded until it came from your lips. Saying it though yanked his attention fully on you before him, “I don’t want to be here if you aren’t. I want to spend my birthday with people I love...I want to spend it, with you-”

Urgently Makki leaned down and pressed his hips against yours. 

The first time since freshman year of high school. So many other kisses between that one and now. Lovers. Friends. Cheeks. Lips. Back of hands. Tops of heads. So many kisses between that one you shared freshman year and now. 

All this time you thought you’d be afraid. Afraid to feel this again. Too loose this again. But when Makki’s kiss slowly disappeared and left the two of you looking at each other. Suddenly you weren’t afraid.

Hand coming up around his neck you pull the man back down to you. Kissing him all over again. Knowing it wasn’t the first time but set that it wouldn’t be the last time now.

“...I’ll always be there.” Makki muttered against your lips, “Even if you don’t want to celebrate your birthday. I’ll be here. Dancing with you and kissing you until you tell me to go away.”

“What if I never tell you to go away?” You look at him, fingers curling in the hairs at the nape of his neck, “And, what if I want to celebrate my birthday every year with you.”

Suddenly relieved he didn’t leave. Makki pulled you not only into him but also for the third kiss of the night. Grinning against your lips, “You don’t even have to dance with me in your party dress. Just dance with me and I’ll kiss you every day of the year, plus your birthday. And I won’t make you drink champagne.”

#hq!! #hq x reader #hq makki #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #makki #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki x reader #takahiro hanamaki #takahiro hanamaki x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #hanamaki fluff #makki fluff

[stanknotstark]

Astral Pt. 8 (Loki x Reader)

Ok guys they’re REUNITED! God i hope you all know that I wrote all 7 parts in one day because i was so obsessed with getting chapters out so i wouldn’t have to write them daily or lose my thoughts!! Ok well now i have some time to figure out where the story will go from here or if i end it here....

IM JUST JOKING it’s not over yet XDD it’s barely begun :p Feel free to send messages about what you think is gonna happen or who might make minor appearances, villain or hero, cuz i have some planned out! I’ve been doing research guys, i bought a marvel encyclopedia for the first time in years cuz i visited the store the other day and loaded up on comic books again it’s been awhile but my collection is growing again ^^

You’re standing next to Natasha when the brothers drop down from the sky in their rainbow elevator thing. Thor called it the bifrost? It wasn’t something Loki had talked about when you had been on speaking terms, he must have not found it important enough.

The brothers landed outside on Stark’s glorified patio, 91 floors up. You almost forget to breathe as you look at Loki. His hair is a little longer now, he’s definitely lost some weight, and the bags under his eyes tell you enough. His face is cold as he looks around and, angrily, lets Thor lead him inside where you all stand in various places waiting on them. You note that both the brothers are dressed casually but it’s still a bit much, Earth wise. 

You swallow as Loki first sees Tony and smirks at him, “Seems I won’t be missing that drink you promised?” 

Tony gave him a once over then shrugged. “I guess you deserve a small break. Thor filled me in on what’s been going on.” Tony said, you thought you could hear a hint of a threat lacing his words though. Loki huffed and rolled his eyes looking at the rest of the team before his eyes landed on you. 

You looked into his eyes for what felt like hours but must have only been seconds. The angry look he had been parading in dropped and you saw a flurry of reactions so quick everyone else would miss it but you knew Loki. You try your best to keep your face disinterested, not quite sure if you succeed. Still a bit hurt he told you to never come back coming to the front of your mind you look away and whisper to Nat, “I gotta go, fill me in on what happens.” Then you rush out.

You hear Tony saying, “You already scared off y/n..” as you left the room. 

You basically run to your room and slam the door shut. Your breathing had started becoming haggard on your way up and only intensified as you closed yourself in your room. Both your hands gripped at your hair and pull, your eyes squeezed shut, tight. You shouldn’t be reacting like this it was Loki, it was just Loki. He wouldn’t hurt you, physically. You had thought that you were over whatever heartbreak you had all those years before. How the fuck were you to function normally around him if just one look at him made you this panicky? Made your heart beat so hard you thought it might break out of your ribs. Made you want to cry deliriously happy and sad at the same time. 

You let go of your hair, let your tears fall, and punched the wall a few times, hoping the pain in your hands would ground you. Luckily, it did, but you’d probably have to come up with an excuse because your knuckles were blooming dark purple. You took in deep breaths, copying what Loki had taught you to do when you got to worked up, subconsciously, the thought of him causing you to freak a bit more but then you just focused on breathing. 

It’s a few hours later when Natasha comes to your room and tells you dinner is ready. You had settled and had a book open in your lap as you sat on your bed. You consider skipping dinner and you’re about to say it when you see the look Natasha is giving you. She had been the one to teach you to over come your fears, to face them head on. She probably thought you were scared of Loki because he had tried to take over the world. Oh, how wrong she was. You nodded and told her you were gonna wear something else. She left you in peace and you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face then putting on your brave face and getting dressed in something casual. A simple t-shirt and jeans would suffice. 

When you entered the dinning room, a floor below yours, everyone was seated. Natasha had left you a seat. Right next to Loki. You swallowed and studiously kept your eyes anywhere but on Loki when you sat down. You realized Loki was very tense when you sat next to him but said nothing on the matter. 

“Brother! This is dear Y/n I mentioned, she’s got a quick wit just like you, I’m sure you both will be the best of friends!” 

You smiled at Thor but it probably came off as more of a grimace because Thor gave you a frown. Loki said nothing and focused on eating his food. The whole table got silent realizing something was up between you and Loki. You cleared your throat and tried to sooth things over by looking at Loki. His eyes caught yours and for a second you got lost in them, again. God, get ahold of yourself!

Mentally shaking your head you plastered a smile on and said, “Nice to meet you, Loki, I can’t wait to get to know you.” You finish lamely then quickly look at your food and begin stuffing your face so you wouldn’t have to speak anymore. 

“Riiiiiight.” Tony said eyeing you and Loki suspiciously. Steve sat next to him frowning at your attitude. You missed the silent conversation Natasha and Clint had. 

“You’re going to choke if you continue to eat like a bilge snipe that hasn’t seen food in weeks.” Loki said in a casual voice.

You choke. You swallow what is in your mouth, Natasha hitting your back a few times, and then you laugh. 

God you missed Loki. 

“Remember when you swallowed that moon berr-” Stopping yourself short you swallowed and closed your eyes, last seeing Loki’s happy look turn into a neutral face as he glances around at the team. Damn. 

“Remember? You two know each other?” Natasha asked, nudging you with her elbow. Thankfully you see she reserves her judgement on the situation. 

Sighing you look at the team and set your utensils down. 

“Loki is...” You shot Loki a confused look as if to ask if you still were but shook your head and continued on looking at Nat primarily, “We’re soulmates. I first met Loki when I was 13 years old.” 

“In person?” Steve asked.

“No, I can astral project my spirit but because I’m his soulmate it wasn’t hard it just kind of happened when I needed him most.” 

You picked up your glass of water, noticing you are shaking a bit. You especially tried not to jump when you felt Loki set a comforting hand on your thigh under the table. Taking a drink you looked at the table, took a deep breath, then let your eyes come back up to the confused team. 

“When you needed him most?” Tony asked after a few minutes of silence. 

Looking at Tony you bit your lip. Should you....

“My grandfather killed my grandmother in front of me when I was 13, I hid in my closet and closed my eyes, when I opened them I was in a room in Asgard.” 

“She was in one of my mental rooms that I use to astral project. A fabricated room I made when I was younger.” Loki said, his eyes only on you. 

“He was always there when something bad happened and we became best friends. I was 17 when I realized I had magic, his magic.” You said looking at Nat who looked confused. “Because we’re connected through our mind and soul, I draw my power from him. The powers I have are Loki’s in a sense but at the same time my own, I can do some things he can’t and vice versa.” 

“So if Loki just like, hypothetically, died,” Tony rolled his eyes when Loki glared at him, “Hypothetically! Would you lose your powers?” 

You swallowed as a knot formed in your throat and looked at Loki with sad eyes, willing him to answer because you surely didn’t have an answer for that. 

“Possibly.” Loki clipped out, sending a glare at Tony, as if damning him for making you think of that preposterous idea. 

Tony hummed in thought. 

“If you’re soulmates, why did she react the way she did when she first saw you?” Thor asked, mostly aiming the question to Loki. Loki looked at Thor, angry, then let out a breath and held his chin high. 

“We had a falling out three years ago.” 

“No doubt your fault?” Thor said causing Loki to nod once with a roll of his eyes. 

“No!” You yelled looking at Loki with exasperation. “I’m the one that chose to leave!” 

“I’m the one that gave you an ultimatum.” Loki ground out, frowning at you. 

“You were trying to keep me safe.” You said causing Loki to scoff. 

“Ok, wait, what happened so we can all choose our sides respectfully here?” Clint asked. 

“Shield found out about my powers when I was 17, said once I turn 18 they can give me an offer I can’t refuse. I could work for them. Loki said not to do it because it sounded like they were gonna use me as a weapon, that we knew nothing about Shield and what it stood for,” You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose with closed eyes, “I told him I was gonna take up their offer considering I had a bad home life, he argued Shield could be more dangerous and I told him I was still gonna take the offer anyways so he offered an ultimatum.” Letting your hand fall down to your lap and over Loki’s, still resting on your lap. You softly caressed his knuckles under the table. When you had closed your eyes, to pinch your bridge, you missed the concerned look Loki gave as he saw the violet bruises on your knuckles. 

“He said if I leave to never come back because he wouldn’t be able to watch me get hurt.” 

Tony breathed through his teeth, a hiss, but otherwise everyone stayed silent. 

“I left.” You finished lamely.

The table stayed silent for awhile, everyone gathering their thoughts and questions, until Steve spoke up. 

“After she left, what did you do Loki?” 

“I had Heimdal watch over her-”

“He is all seeing.” Thor said quickly to help out.

“-and I told him that if she were to find any trouble she could not handle to send me to her.” 

You looked up at Loki, shocked, who zealously kept his eyes on Steve. You offered what comfort you could by grasping his hand and squeezing. You smiled inwardly as Loki’s tense form softened slightly. 

“I’m taking it she never ran into trouble she couldn’t handle.” Steve said, more as a statement than a question.

“From what Heimdal has told me, joining Shield is the best thing to happen to her and I almost stopped that.” 

“You couldn’t have known.” You said quietly, frowning in thought, Loki finally looked down at you and your heart almost broke in half at the hurt in his eyes. 

“All you wanted was the best for me and I’m sorry I left,” You looked down and squeezing his hand before looking back up at his eyes, “I’m sorry I left and never tried to reach you again but I’m not sorry about the decision I made.” 

Loki looked at you for a bit then nodded, satisfied with something he found on your face or possibly in your eyes. “I’m sorry I never tried to reach out to you too.” Loki admitted.

You glanced at Thor who sat next to Loki, looking a little put out he never knew about the both of you. 

“Sorry we didn’t tell you Thor I kind of wanted to keep it a secret because I was going through a lot and wasn’t very trusting of strangers at the time.” You said to placate Thor, making the blame fall on you instead of Loki since their relationship was already rocky to begin with. A minor way you could apologize to Loki about not contacting him. 

Thor smiled, genuinely, then said “I’m just happy to make your acquaintance now, y/n.” 

Everyone went back to eating their almost cold meal now. Natasha and Clint the only ones that noted that you and Loki ate with one hand the entire time.

Conversations flowed between the team smoothly like you all were meant to be there, together. No one made any comments on the fact that you and Loki couldn’t keep your eyes off each other the entire time either.

Pt. 7/Pt. 8/?

Tag list: @justfangirlthingies @emelieh99  @high-functioning-lokipath​ 

#loki x reader #avengers #my writing #loki #loki odinson #astral pt7 #astral #gif #tony stark #thor #I TOTALLY FORGOT BOUT BRUCE FUCK THERE ARE TOO MANY AVENGERS GDI #were gonna pretend bruce was helping shield do something on the helicarrier or left or something idk if i can find a way to bring him back #i will think of something im so sorry for bruce fans XDDDD #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #clint barton #reader insert #GUYS THEYRE BACK TOGETHER HOW DOES IT FEEL???? #LOKI IS SHOWING HIS EMOTIONS IN FRONT OF THE TEAM #YOULL BE SURE TO TELL HIM YOU APPRECIATE HIM SHOWING IT TOO #DONT WORRY #ok so the next chapters imma make fluffy and cute cuz like yall deserve it after waiting for them to get back together #plus i love happiness #but that doesn't mean something bad wont happen #and you have no idea when it's gonna happen >:DDDDD #sorry i like angst #with a happy ending of course #or maybe ill make this my first time to do angst with an unhappy ending #nah im jk i cant do that yet #or can i?

[themirokai]

POI 02x11: 2 Pi R

Well we’ve gone from the total high of Shadow Box to … this one. I think when deprived of the “Finch and Reese help a number” format, the show kind of lost its way and that’s reflected most in how they used Carter. So here’s some thoughts. Not so much with the GIFs this time.

1. I liked the dynamic between Fusco and Finch. Fusco had useful stuff to do. He and Finch worked well together. Fusco was kind of protective of Finch.

As much as I adore Finch and Reese, I think they’ve been disdainful and dismissive of Fusco to the point where he doesn’t feel like he can go to them for help with HR. (Oh I guess I’m doing the mini version of my Fusco rant here…) I’m hoping this episode starts to build a little more trust.

2. Let’s take a moment to appreciate Carter bringing the glam and being absolutely stunning.

Original

Appreciated? Good, cause now I’m going to rain on the parade. When I first saw the glow up, I was like “oh, this series has never before made this gorgeous woman wear a tight dress. That’s kind of neat.” But the more I thought about it the more I asked why exactly she had to do it at all. This felt like The Show saying “hey, don’t forget she’s conventionally sexy too!” instead of something that flowed naturally for the character or the story. Which brings me to…

3. Everything that Carter did after that was, in my opinion, a disservice to her character. She said early in the episode that she crossed the line a long time ago, but did she? Look I don’t have the best memory for this stuff, so I warmly welcome people telling me I’m wrong about this, but I think Carter’s work with Team Machine has largely consisted of turning a blind eye at strategic times, taking actions that lead directly to keeping innocent people safe or bringing bad people to justice, and providing information to people who she believed were doing good.

What she does in this episode is way the hell over the Rubicon from that. There’s the breaking and entering and tampering with evidence and impeding a federal investigation. I could probably get over that (though where the hell did she learn to pick a lock?).

But she straight up roofies a completely innocent dude!! I guess they were trying to establish that she asked him about his medical history to make sure she wouldn’t kill him or something but that doesn’t change the fact that drugging someone unconscious is felony assault in NY! (Yes, I looked it up.) This wasn’t to save someone’s life. This was to get John out of jail. You mean to tell me that brilliant Harold couldn’t come up with some way to get John out that didn’t involve Carter - who previously had a firm moral compass - assaulting a totally innocent person? Heck, they couldn’t get Zoe, a more morally flexible character who already dresses like that, to do that part?

Ok the more I think about this the more annoyed I get. Let’s move on.

4. Michael Emerson is a great actor. It was great to see him get to flex a bit here.

5. I could be getting this wrong (again, please correct me) but I think this is the first time since season 1 episode 2 that Harold’s disability is discussed in any way.

In the earlier episode Harold tells the number that if she runs he can’t keep up with her. Here…

Harold: May I remind you that of the many things I’m equipped to do, pursuit would not be chief among them.

I think it’s interesting that there’s been so little on this so far. I know the broad strokes of the back story so I know they’re going to get to it, but having this line in this episode highlighted how absent this kind of discussion has been so far. I’m not really sure what I think about that, other than it seems notable to me. Do we think Harold is uncomfortable speaking about this with John but doesn’t mind this time cause he’s talking to Fusco? Or do we think that this was a kind of OOC thing like other stuff this episode? OR am I overthinking this like I do with lots of stuff????

Music notes: I didn’t pick up on any notable music this episode. Did I miss something? But I still have Gimme Shelter stuck in my head from watching Shadow Box and then listening to it a bunch of times after that. Of things that could be stuck in my head (mostly songs from Blue’s Clues, tbh, i have a 5 year old) this is pretty great.

Side note: An episode without Bear is kinda sad.

#miro does poi #person of interest #I’m looking forward to the next episode #but this one didn’t do it for me #obviously I think #2piR

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Let’s Play Forever

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Yeonjun had always been confident. Some would say too confident even. It’s you, you’re some. It isn’t until he gets passed over for the leader position that you seem him doubting himself for the first time, and you gotta say, you don’t like it one bit.

A/N: this was gonna be a really nasty femdom fic but I got soft and it turned into a fluffy switchy mess, but it’s still nasty don’t worry and still femdom

Anger bubbles up in your throat and you grit your teeth to try and keep it down as you watch the instructor berate Soobin for the hundredth time.

“I’m sorry, Seongho-nim. I didn’t have enough time to practice.” Soobin mumbles with his head down.

“Yeonjun had the same amount of hours to practice and yet he executed the moves perfectly. Why can’t you?”

Of course he’d bring up Yeonjun, the star trainee. He was good at everything, and he was insufferable about it, parading around and showing off to anyone who would listen.

When you’d first gotten into the company and didn’t know any better, he took you to the wall where the names of the top trainees in each category were written, except they were all the same name–Choi Yeonjun. Your confusion only lasted a second before he smugly proclaimed that he was Choi Yeonjun. He’d gotten on your nerves ever since.

You hated how arrogant he was, but most of all, you resented how his proficiency in everything he set out to do only served to highlight Soobin’s mistakes, making them all the more glaring, and that was just unfair. Soobin worked just as hard as Yeonjun did, it’s not his fault that he’s naturally more clumsy and forgetful. Not everyone can be born blessed with impeccable coordination and sense of rhythm.  

“I guess he’s just the better dancer.” Soobin replies meekly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Yeonjun smirking at you and you turn your head to glare at him.

“Yeah, no shit. You better get your shit together soon or you won’t be here for much longer.” The instructor growls at the poor boy, and Soobin’s head hangs even lower. “Yes, Seongho-nim.”

You wait until the instructor is out of the room, all the while staring daggers at his retreating back, before you rush forward to comfort Soobin.

“Don’t listen to him, Binnie. You’re a great dancer!” You clasp your arm around his back, trying to shake him out of the horrible mood he was in.

“I don’t know, noona. I just can’t seem to get anything right. Maybe I should just quit.” You gasp. Quit? He can’t quit! You wanted him to stay.

“Don’t say that, sweetie.” You coo softly. Just then, an idea pops up into your head. “I know what we can do! I can help you practice. You’ll get better in no time!”

At that, his head shoots up and he smiles brightly, and you swear you could just smother him in kisses with how happy you’ve made him look. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, I’d do anything for you.” There was no hesitation in your words. You’d really do anything for the precious boy.  

“You’re so nice to me, noona.” Your heart swells even more until you feel like it could just burst. And then it does, but not in the way you’d hoped. “You know, you remind me of my own noona. With you around it’s like she’s here with me.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” You choke when he engulfs you in a warm hug.

“Thank you for being here for me. I don’t know what I would do without you.” He pulls back but his arms remain around your waist as he smiles down at you innocently, not knowing what his proximity is doing to you.

You were in hell. On the one hand, it felt so good to be held like this by him. You were starved for any kind of intimacy from him. But on the other hand, the way he was looking at you was nothing but genuine and pure, and it killed you that he felt nothing but platonic love for you.

“It’s really no problem.” You say awkwardly, breaking the bittersweet embrace yourself. “Why don’t you go take a shower now. You stink.” You slap his arm lightly, and he laughs.  

“Ok. You’re the best, noona!” He kisses your cheek and runs around collecting his stuff.

As soon as he leaves the room, a boisterous laugh erupts from behind you.

“Wow, getting sister-zoned. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Fuck off, Yeonjun.” You turn towards the boy with a mean scowl on your face.

“Come on, noona, he’s never going to be interested in you. He’s too much of a good boy. He can probably sense that you’re bad news, like a little mouse smelling a snake.” He grins, sticking his tongue out between his teeth and making a hissing sound. “I don’t know why you bother with him when you’ve got me right here.”

You rake your eyes over his seated form, eyeing up his long limbs and his pretty face. He was staring you down too, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes dark. He looked hungry and sinful and that’s precisely why you didn’t want him. You liked good boys like Soobin, not arrogant assholes like Yeonjun.  

Turning away from him, you start gathering your own stuff. “Thanks but no thanks.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“You’re not my type.”

He scoffs, offended by the mere notion. “I’m everyone’s type. You’re just a frigid bitch.”

That brat!

You round on him, stomping towards him and leaning over him with a sharp frown. “No, I’m just not interested in selfish brats who cares about no one but themselves.”

“I’m not selfish.” You hear him protest as you turn your back on him, but you ignore him, grabbing the last of your items before leaving.

________________________________

“You know this isn’t gonna make me do you, right?”

“I’m not trying to get you to do me.”

You glare at him suspiciously, obviously not believing him. There is no way in hell that Yeonjun would voluntarily offer to help you help Soobin practice unless it benefitted him in some way.

He rolls his eyes at your clear distrust of him. “I’m doing this to prove to you that I’m not selfish.”

“So you’re only doing this to make yourself look better? You’re right, that’s not selfish at all.”

He glares at you, “Yeah, and what about you? You’re only helping Soobin because you want to get into his pants.”

“That’s not true!” You splutter. “I care about him as a person!”

“And I care about you.” He shrugs.

“Whatever, as long as it helps Soobin.” You grumble, reluctantly accepting his assistance.

And it did help. To be honest, before Yeonjun joined you, you and Soobin were getting nowhere. Your efforts combined were just not as good as Yeonjun’s and despite the significant improvement, his skills still couldn’t compare to Yeonjun’s. Until the boy in question decided to offer his help.

After that, you weren’t needed that much anymore. Yeonjun was a much better mentor than you were, but you still hung around whenever they practiced together. At first because you didn’t trust Yeonjun. Maybe he was doing this to undermine Soobin in some way or just to generally bully him and lower his spirits. But much to your surprise, Yeonjun was a better instructor than even the company appointed one. He was strict but never abusive. He got frustrated with Soobin sometimes but that was only because he thought he could do better. And he was very creative in explaining things to Soobin–if the younger boy didn’t understand something, he found another way to teach it to him.

You had always suspected that Soobin was a good dancer and singer that could shine if he was given the proper direction and nurture, and with Yeonjun’s help, that’s exactly what he got. And you found yourself growing fonder of Yeonjun the more Soobin thrived under his guidance.

Now instead of attending their practice sessions to make sure Yeonjun wasn’t doing something fishy, you would go just to witness the older boy in his zone. You’ve never really paid much attention to him before–you refused to just because that’s what he wanted you to do–but now that you do, you could see how exceptional he really was. Yes, he was still annoying and his ego was larger than life, but you found yourself softening up to him.

The first time Soobin’s performance got praised instead of insulted by Seonho-nim because of Yeonjun’s help, you were so ecstatic that you had pulled the older boy out of the room and kissed his face off.

“I thought you said this won’t make you have sex with me.” He had smirked at you.

“It won’t.” You shut him up, kissing him again.

______________________________________

Ever since then, you couldn’t stop thinking about his lips. They were always so plush and inviting, especially when he pouted at you, which seemed to always be happening these days as he kept trying to get closer to you.

You didn’t mind it anymore, Yeonjun was an interesting person and you enjoyed spending more time with him and getting to know him. You had learned that, among the trainees, he’d been here the longest and that some of his friends who had left the company have already debuted–something that only fueled his determination to debut more.

Now that you think about it, Yeonjun wasn’t obligated to care for Soobin. For all he knows, Soobin might not even end up in the debuting team, or worse, he might beat Yeonjun for a position.

That’s why it must’ve stung so much when Soobin was chosen as the leader for Bighit’s new boy group instead of Yeonjun.

It was disconcerting to see him doubting himself. You were so used to his cocksure attitude and easy confidence that you almost forgot that he was human too and was subject to the same doubts and fears everyone was.

It shouldn’t bother you this much. Soobin was getting the acknowledgement he deserved at long last, and he was more than appreciative to you for it, gushing about how he never would’ve had the courage and will power to continue if not for your help. But you found yourself only half-listening to his words of gratitude, your mind occupied by the crest-fallen boy who for the first time ever actually looked unsure of himself.

“It’s not the end of the world, Yeonjun.” You told him, back at your apartment. You don’t know why you even invited him over, but you couldn’t handle seeing him look so angry and lost. “These leader positions don’t go to the best trainee. They go to the one who could mediate the group the best, and Soobin is a good mediator.”

“I deserve that position! What can he do that I can’t do?” He asks, and for once, it’s a question rather than a proclamation.

“Listen!” You yell out in frustration, “A good leader needs to listen and you never do.”

“I can’t believe that after all I’ve done, I still lost.”

“Don’t be stupid, Yeonjun. You didn’t lose shit. You still got into the group.”

“Yeah, but I’d have to take orders from him from now on.” He laments bitterly, and you know he doesn’t mean it like that. He’d come to be close with Soobin too, but it must hurt to have the person you helped train get chosen over you. “I’d rather quit.”

“What is it with you boys and quitting? No one is quitting!” You scold him.

“What do you care anyway? Isn’t this what you wanted all along, for me to fail and Soobin to succeed?” He crosses his arms, leaning against your table and looking at you like a wounded puppy.

You roll your eyes and march over to him, “I never wanted you to fail, Yeonjun. I just wanted Soobin to feel better.”

He scoffs, averting his eyes. “Well, he must feel like a fucking champ right now.”

Stepping ever closer to him, you corner him between your body and the table, “And what about you, how does that make you feel?”

“Like shit?” It comes out like a question as he stares at you in suspicion, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips in a pout, trying to figure out what you were going to do.

You place your hands on either side of him on the table, effectively trapping him. He looks so cute like this, all vulnerable and lost. You weren’t used to him being so docile, but it was fucking turning you on. And when his tongue darted out to nervously wet his lips, you couldn’t hold yourself back.

You cut off his startled question as you capture his mouth with your own. Taking advantage of his momentarily shock, you press your lips against his in small kisses that end before he gets to fully enjoy them, teasing him. His lips were as plump as you remember, and you take the bottom one between your teeth and bite down, making it swell up even more. His mouth opens in a gasp and you soothe over his now red lip with your tongue before slipping it into his open mouth.

Once he feels your tongue against his, he reciprocates the kiss, wrapping his lips around your tongue and trapping it inside his mouth as his own tongue moves against yours. When he starts clutching onto you, panting and hard, you pull away, earning yet another pout from his full and wet lips.

“Shh,” You can’t resist pressing one last quick peck against his glistening lips before moving along his jaw and down his neck, your kisses getting rougher the needier he gets.

“Are you doing this just to make me feel better?” He gasps out, pressing your body to his. You could feel how hard he was already and it made you want to devour him.

“Maybe.” You whisper in his ear before sucking on the sweet spot under it, earning a choked moan from him as his hips involuntarily buck forward. Truth is, you’ve wanted to do more than kiss him for a long time now.

“I’m worth more than a pity fuck.” He grumbles, and then gasps when you slip your hand down his pants, wrapping it around his hot member. “You are.”

He moans as your palm swipes over his slit, and spreads his legs to give you better access, his back arching as his hips buck up in time with your strokes.

Pulling on your hair gently, he pulls your mouth away from his neck and makes you face him. “Say it.”

Looking him straight in the eye, you say genuinely, “You deserve so much more, baby. You’re one of a kind.” You stroke him faster, watching hungrily as he gasps for air.

“And what about Soobin?”  He prods, one of his hands slipping under your shirt.

“He’s a good boy too.”

He frowns at that, pushing your bra up and pinching your nipple. You gasp, your back arching into his touch and your hand tightening around his length.

“But I’m better, right?“ He bites his lip, but his moans still come out as your strokes become more firm the more he plays with your breasts.

“This is what you wanted Soobin for, right? To be your obedient little fucktoy?” He asks brattily, one measure mocking and the other spoiled, and you feel your underwear sticking to you uncomfortable with how wet you were becoming. “It’s okay, noona, you can play with me instead. I’ll be your good boy.”

Taking your hands off him, you push him away to slip your pants and underwear down to your legs and kick them away. Then you switch positions with him so you’re sitting on top of the table and he’s standing between your legs.

Grabbing his dick, you slide it up and down your soaking slit. Every time it touches your hole, you push just the head of it inside before pulling it back out, leaving you aching and clenching around nothing, but it’s worth it to hear his whimpers each time.

“What a filthy mouth you have, baby. Such a bad boy who knows how to act good to get what he wants.”

“Hmm,” He buries his face in your neck, sucking big, wet kisses all over your skin. “Let me fuck you then.”

“How much do you want it?” You tease as you push more of him inside and squeeze your walls around him, only to pull it back out once again.

“So fucking bad.” He whines, grabbing your ass and bucking his hips forward, his dick sliding wetly over your pussy. “I can just fuck you stupid.”

“Yeah, is that what you fantasize about, Junnie? Fucking me until I break on your cock baby?” You goad him, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit.

“Yeah I want to fuck you until you’re so filled up with my cum and your pussy is so sore, I’ll ruin you for other men.” He takes his cock from your hand and lines himself up with your entrance and pushes inside.

“Go slow.” You moan, throwing your head back. He huffs into your shoulder as his body becomes flush against yours. His mouth continues abusing your neck as his hips swivel and grind against yours, the friction making you involuntarily close your legs, bringing him even closer to you.

“Good boy.”

“Yeah, I’m your best boy.” He boasts, hips pulling back ever so slight just to snap forward again, hitting you deep inside  in sharp little bursts. “You like having my cock in you? It fills you up just right, huh?”

“Yes, you’re just perfect, baby.”

“I can feel how your pussy is just dying to milk me dry.” He pulls back to take your shirt and bra off, and cups your breasts in his hands, pushing them together. “Can’t wait till you’re all stuffed full of my cum.”

"You can’t have it all, Junnie.” Your voice shakes as his thumbs twirl around your nipples, “Either you get to fuck me how you want or you get to cum inside me. You can’t have both.”

“And why not?” His hands massage your breasts as his hips keep grinding against yours, making you feel like you could cum just from this.

“Because it’s more fun for me this way.” You grin, dragging your nails down his chest and making his hips jump forward.

“So this is how you wanna play, huh?” He challenges, “Fine by me.”

Pushing you flat against the table, he grabs you by the hips and snaps his hips into you, fucking you roughly.

“Shit.” You bite down on your tongue, getting overwhelmed with the sudden spike in pleasure. If you had known the sex would be this good, you would’ve fucked him a long time ago.

“Is it as good as you imagined it, baby boy?” You tease him, using your own hands to play with your tits.

“Yes, noona. You’ve kept me waiting for too long.” He growls, his tight grip on your hips barely enough to hold you in place against his sharp thrusts.

“Poor baby.” You purr, tightening yourself around him and drawing out a long moan from his throat. “Is it too much for you?”

He scoffs and his hips stop moving.  You frown, “Why did you–”

You gasp as you feel him squeeze a finger inside of you, stretching you out almost painfully as your pussy widens to accommodate the extra girth. You whine and squirm in discomfort as his finger prods around the tight space, but he presses his other hand down on your abdomen and holds you in place.  

“Yeonjun, I swear to god–oh fuck!” You suddenly cry out as his finger hits just the right spot inside of you.

A grin stretches across his face as you realize what he’s doing but it’s too late because then he’s fucking you with both his dick and his finger, the combined stretch of his dick and the incessant way he was rubbing against your sweet spot has your legs shaking and trying to close up, the stimulation too much. But his body prevents you from closing your legs, forcing you to lie there and take it.  

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You grit out, feeling the sharp pleasure shoot up your body as he adds another finger to the one already inside.

“Yeah, cum on my cock, noona.” He groans and fucks you even harder, the slapping sound of his thighs hitting yours and your slick squelching around his fingers filling the room.

When you cum, your pussy almost couldn’t contract around him for how much it was stretched. “Fuck, I can’t, I can’t!” You cry out, your eyes closing against the intense pleasure and your body shaking under him.

“Ah–I’m gonna c-cum, noona.” He whimpers quietly but you hear it, and it tears you out of your hazy orgasm. You summon all your strength and sit up, pushing him out of you and closing your fist tightly around the base of his dick.

“No, no, no.” He shouts, his hips humping the air as he tries to hold onto his orgasm, but with your hand wrapped tightly around him, only a few drops of cum drip down his cock as it twitches in vain.

“What did I say about cumming inside, Junnie?”

“You’re a fucking sadist.” He growls, resting his forehead against yours as he tries to catch his breath and calm down.

“Now I could not let you cum just for that attitude.” You chastise.

“No, please, let me cum, please. I’m sorry.” He whines, kissing you, hot and desperate. His body vibrates in your hold and you could practically taste his desperation. “Please.”

“Okay.” You relent, if only because of the delicious burn in your pussy from the orgasm he brought you just seconds ago. As you jack him off, you spread your legs, putting your pussy on display for him, taunting him with what he can’t have. “Maybe if you’re good, you could cum inside me next time.”  

He was so close already that it only takes him a couple of strokes to cum, his seed landing on your pussy and inner thighs, contrasting prettily against your skin. He must like it too because he stares at like he’s committing it to memory.

“Fuck, thank you.” He grunts, taking off his shirt and wiping the mess between your legs with it.  

“Oh, you didn’t have to.” You say sheepishly, feeling sorry for ruining his shirt.

But he doesn’t care, chucking it to the floor and enveloping you in a sudden embrace, his breath warm against your ear. You let him hold you for a bit, stroking his back as his breathing evens out and his heartbeat slows down.

Pulling back ever so slightly, you cup his face between your hands and whisper to him, “I meant it, by the way. I think you’re amazing and you’re gonna do huge things in the future.”

“I know.” He retorts cheekily, and you roll your eyes and pull him in for a kiss.

________________________________

A/N: Feedback is greatly appreciated mwah

#txt smut #yeonjun smut #txt scenarios #txt fanfic #txt imagines #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun imagines

[mosswillow]

Learning To Love - Steve Rogers x Reader (featuring Texas vibes)

Summary: Life always does this thing where it puts you in situations you swore you were done experiencing. You’re done having relationships, but they may not be done with you.

Warnings: Smut, feelings, angst, interrupted assault  (In relation to this, attacker going unpunished, intimidation, stalker vibes.), mature themes, 18+ adult content, slow burn?

A/N: This is a gift for @joannie95 for the Hoelentine’s Day challenge! I hope you like it. This isn’t a dark fic but it is a little heavy, there’s a healthy dollop of anxiety and feelings throughout with a happy ending.

Thanks to  @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares and @drabblewithfrannybarnes  for putting this whole thing together, it’s such a fun challenge!

By clicking keep reading you confirm you’re over 18. This is mature content, be careful.

Unlovable.

When asked to describe yourself it’s the first word you think of. Your very first boyfriend spent months emotionally abusing you and by the end of the relationship it’s what you truly believed about yourself. Every relationship after has been the same. Your insecurities and inability to trust causing tension that eventually sabotages any chance at making things work; and with each failed relationship your view of yourself becomes more and more loathsome. Self hatred and depreciation surround you in a cloak of misery, convincing you that they’re your friends.  It’s all your fault, you deserve all of it, You’re unlovable.

So you don’t do relationships anymore. You want nothing more than to love and be loved, to hold hands and kiss under the moonlight. You want a partner to share your life with, an emotional connection that transcends yourself, creating a whole new person.

If only you were good enough, worthy enough for love.

But you’re not.

---

“No eating in here Dr. Rogers,” you chide.

Steve looks up at you and gives a smirk.

“How about a little bribe.” He holds up a bag of beaver nuggets. You roll your eyes and look around before sticking your hand in and grabbing a few puffs.

“I knew you couldn’t be perfect all the time,” He teases.

“Don’t you have an office or something?”

“I like it better here, I get to be scolded by a beautiful librarian and don’t have to deal with the other professors.”  

You’ve known Steve for years. He started teaching at the same time you joined the library staff at Rice. He’s genuine and kind. You’ve watched him help countless students outside of office hours. Everyone likes him, including you. You really like him a lot. That’s why you can’t let yourself entertain the possibility of being with him. You can’t lose him. You can’t bear the inevitable conclusion of him looking you in the eyes and telling you he’s done, that you’re too much for him.

“Well you’ll have to pack it up, they’re sending everyone home because of the hurricane.”

“It’s barely even a hurricane, more like a tropical storm,” Steve scoffs.

“Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

You close the library down before heading to your car. The wind has already started and the sky darkens by the second. You smell the slight scent of sea air and know it’s close. The humidity, which you forgot could even get this bad, causes you to start sweating profusely and you want to get home and take a shower before the storm starts. You have a pint of blue bell waiting for you at home along with a stack of unread books, a quiet night sounds perfect.

“Hey.”

You whip around and see a familiar face, a grad student who visits the library often. Alex, you remember.

“Sorry, I just closed the library down. You'll have to wait until the school opens.”

He takes a small step forward, close enough that your personal space is violated, while at the same time far enough to where the invasion feels almost accidental.

“I’ve watched you around campus, noticed your schedule.” It’s not an accident.

It’s not unusual for students to flirt with you but this is less flirting and more just creepy.

“Oh, um yeah I work a lot.” you take a step back and he follows.

“You don’t have a boyfriend.” He states.

You stare at him and take another step back, hitting your back on your car. You grab onto the handle and he reaches out and grabs your hand.

“Hey don’t be like that. I’m a good guy. I won’t hurt you.”

You pry your hand away..

“One date, say yes.” He says, slowly pushing his body towards you.

“No, I have to go.”  

You press yourself against your car as his body goes rigid.

“You’re such a fucking tease, parading around me for weeks.”

He takes a tiny step back but places his hands against your car, caging you in. You close your eyes and freeze in fear. Your mind screams at you to move but your body just won’t.

He’s suddenly pulled away from you and when you open your eyes the only thing visible is Steve’s back.

“She said no, why don’t you move along and maybe spend some time considering why you feel entitled to women who clearly aren’t interested.”

Alex and Steve stare at each other for a few slow moments before Alex scowls at you and walks away.

“Are you ok?” Steve turns to you.

“I’m fine.” you lie, crossing your arms to avoid shaking.

Steve raises his eyebrows and looks you up and down. You’re not entirely sure how it happens but somehow you end up sitting in the passenger seat of Steve's truck, looking at your apartment building. Rain has started coming down in earnest and you dread running through it.

“Are you going to be ok alone?” Steve asks

“Are you?” You reply.

You look at eachother and your mind clears. His blue eyes stare at you with concern. Steve's hands are still on the steering wheel, clutching on like it might disappear if he lets go. You don’t want to be alone and you can tell that he doesn’t either. You want to feel safe and right now Steve is the only one who makes you feel that way. It would be so easy to invite him in, you know he would say yes.

“You don’t have a car. do you have food? Bottled water? A portable charger?” Steve asks.

“You’re the one that said it’s barely a hurricane.”

Steve sighs and releases his hands from the steering wheel.

“Just call me if you need me.”

You nod and climb out of the truck. The transition from the hot rain to your air conditioned apartment causes you to start shivering and even after you change and cover yourself in a warm blanket you still shake uncontrollably.

---

The storm lasts three days, worse than you were expecting but nothing like Harvey.

Steve shows up at your apartment bright and early a bag of conchas and breakfast tacos in hand. You climb in his truck and buckle your seatbelt. Steve eyes your book bag before backing up.

“You’re not going to work are you?”

“It’s been three days.” you reply.

He looks at you like you’re crazy and you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“It wasn’t that bad, you got there before anything actually happened,” you say.

He opens his mouth and breathes in before biting his lip and driving you to work without another word.

Steve walks you to your car every day after work. You don’t ask him to, he just does. It’s an unsaid expectation you both have. The first week is awkward, You both say almost nothing to each other. The second week though Steve finally breaks the silence.

“How have you been?”

You shrug.  

“I filed a complaint. He’s barred from the library and promised not to come near me.” you say.

Steve purses his lips.

“Do you feel safe though?”

“No...”

Steve stiffens and you reach out and grasp his shoulder.

“Thank you for walking me to my car.”

“Of course,” Steve closes the door for you and you drive away.

Steve cracked something on your exterior. You had been pushing off the feelings before Steve asked you how you were and now you can’t push them down any longer. You get in the shower and let the warm water wash over you. At first you feel raw and then angry and then for the first time since it happened you cry. It feels silly, to let something so seemingly small affect you so much. It could have been so much worse, it’s not like anything actually happened. Maybe that’s what scares you, not what happened but the implication of what could have. He invaded your space and intimidated you, making you feel small and helpless. If it wasn’t for Steve…

You let yourself fall apart until the water turns cold, then you pick yourself up and wrap yourself in a soft towel.

You look at the woman in your bathroom mirror and see someone who isn’t you. She’s broken and hurting, her eyes swollen from crying. She looks like she’s about to fall over from exhaustion. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. She has every right to feel upset and frightened about it. She didn’t deserve to have her safety threatened, nobody deserves that.

You didn’t deserve it.

You go to work the next day and the day after that. Days turn into weeks turn into months and the fear slowly leaches out of you as you reach out for help. The woman in your bathroom mirror deserves therapy and so do you.

Steve is always there. He walks you to your car every day. He starts texting you and you text him back. You go out to dinner with him, an ethiopian place this weekend and a mediteranian food truck the next. You form inside jokes and slowly you find yourself telling Steve little things about yourself.

“Why are you single?” You ask him one day.

“I had a girlfriend, she’s not with us anymore. After she… I guess I just… I wasn’t in a place for a long time to date anyone, I cringe now at some of the things I did while dating after she passed.”

He leans back and gives you a little smile.

“I’ll know when it’s the right time to jump back in - when it’s the right person.”

You open up about your past and he listens. He tells you about growing up as the smallest kid in his class, how he was bullied and how suddenly people started treating him differently when he hit a late growth spurt. You feel closer to him than you’ve ever felt with anyone.

---

Steve walks you to your car. Tomorrow is your off day and you stop to thank him and remind him you aren’t working the next few days. He’s looking at you and shifts on his feet, you furrow your brows in concern.

“It’s Valentine's day tomorrow.” He blurts out.

You take a step towards your car, knowing where this is going and not wanting it to go any further.

Steve is the one who holds you together, his friendship helping you in so many ways. He holds power over you though, power to throw you aside and break you apart. You can’t be cast away, not again.

“If you don’t have plans maybe I can make you something for dinner at my place?”

You turn away and grab your door handle.

“Sorry, I’m busy.”

“Oh of course, yeah that’s fine.”

You watch Steve bring his hand up to his forehead in the rearview mirror as you drive away.

That evening you write the text, it’s cowardly but you don’t think you can face him.

I don’t need you to walk me to my car anymore. Thank you for your help but I think our relationship should be professional from here on out.

What? No, we’re friends. Are you ok?

You turn your phone off and take a sleeping pill only to be woken in the middle of the night by pounding on your door.

Steve stands in your doorway. His eyes are red and his hair is messy. He takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair.

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“I turned it off.”

Steve stares at you and you look away.

“What is this about?”

“What is what about?”

“We’re friends. I’m not going to stop being your friend just because you don’t want a relationship. I know this isn’t one sided, that you feel the same way about me. Why are you trying to push me away?”

You cross your arms and look down and he leans over, putting himself in your line of sight.

“If I let you in I’ll get hurt,” you confess.

“Why do you think that?”

‘I..” You stutter

It’s not one moment. Not any one breakup you’ve been through. It’s not even what happened months ago during the hurricane. It’s everything. It’s self hatred, overthinking and analyzing. It’s all the anxiety and stress of life that compounds into fear. Fear of failing and of loss, of getting hurt and breaking. You feel like the only way to keep yourself up and moving is by pushing him away.

“You’re so scared of being hurt but Y/N, you’re hurting. You’re doing to yourself the very thing you’re so scared of.”

Tears start forming, Steve brings his hand up and wipes one away before pulling you into a hug and letting you cry into his chest.

He shifts his face close to your ear and speaks softly.

“I have fear too, but you know what I’m the most scared of? I’m scared of not being your friend anymore. We don’t have to be in a relationship but please don’t cut me out.”

His voice hitches and his grip tightens.

“I love you, I care about you and always will.”

You pull back and look at him, a tear escapes one of his eyes and he promptly wipes it away.

“I’m scared,” you say.

“I am too.”

Your heart beats rapidly as you look up into Steve's bloodshot eyes and see the pain that you’re feeling mirrored back at you. Steve holds power over you but for the first time you realize that you hold that same power over him. You never thought you would be willing to put yourself in a vulnerable position again but somehow, here you are. You put your hand over your heart and feel the life pump out if it and through your veins.

reaching up tentatively, you bring your hand to his face grabbing his cheek gently. You stand up tall and slide your hand behind his neck, bringing him in and kissing him. Tension releases from both of you as you press your lips together, embracing in a warm hug. You pull away and he brings you in for another kiss, this time pushing you into your apartment and kicking the door closed behind him.

It’s a flurry of body parts and heat. You’re ripping off each other's clothing. Steve kisses your neck and you bring your hand to his chest and feel down his abdomen. He groans when you get to his dick and the next thing you know you’re on the bed arching your back as he slams into you. You open your mouth to moan but nothing comes out, Instead your eyes roll to the back of your head as an orgasm washes through you and carries you away.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” He says.

He stills on top of you and then looks down making eye contact before rolling beside you and pulling you into a hug.

“That was...” Steve starts

“Amazing.” you finish.

You pry yourself from Steve and walk to the bathroom to clean up, stopping at the mirror to look at your post sex appearance.

Maybe there’s no way around it. Maybe life will stick you in situations and force you forward against your will. You weren’t trying to let Steve into your life but somehow here he is.

For the first time you don’t don’t feel like this unlovable person. You’re not scared he’s going to leave you or that you’re going to ruin the relationship.

You have a feeling you’ve never truly experienced before and now it all makes sense. Somehow in the last few months you’ve learned to love. You look at yourself in the mirror and see someone worthy.

You’ve spent all your time and energy pushing people away when you should have been building yourself up. You thought that taking care of yourself meant hiding away and putting up a wall.

Self care isn’t a bubble bath or a glass of wine and It’s not something that happens out of fear or anxiety. It’s affording yourself the same kindness and forgiveness that you would give anyone else. It’s looking at yourself in the mirror and recognizing that you deserve to love and to be loved. It’s giving yourself permission to feel however you feel without guilt or shame. It’s love in its purest form and you deserve it.

You are not unlovable.

Steve walks up beside you and kisses your temple.

“When you said you loved me...” you start.

“I meant it.”  He says quickly.

You turn and look at him, biting your lip before saying something you’ve been so scared of for so long. You kiss his cheek and smile.

“I love you.”  

#happyhoelentine’schallenge2021 #steve rogers x reader #mcu fic #reader insert mcu #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x fem #steve rogers angst #steve rogers au

[zmayadw]

Hello to all!

I've been sick as hell for a week, and finaly started to feel a bit better today.

So, finaly got the strenght to post new part of the story.

Wish you all a good week, take care and stay healthy! :)

CALL OF THE RAVEN

PART 24

„'Morning.“ I said smiling, peeping from under the covers. Jake tured to me from his laptop „Good morning, angel.“ He said smiling back. „Did you sleep well?“ „I did.“ I said, getting up and stretching. „I actually don't remember the last time I slept so well.“ He grinned „Good.“ I looked arround the room, the absence of my favourite scent leaving me confused. „No coffee?“ I asked, and he looked serious at me „No, I'm affraid.“ „Oh.“ I said disappointed, draging my feet towards the bathroom, mumbling curses under my breath. I was at the doors when he said „I actually thought we could go to town for coffee.“ I turned to him surprised „You did?“ „Mhm.“ He said „It's a nice morning, would be a shame to spend it inside.“ He grinned, and I looked at him inquirely, leaning on the doorframe and crossing my arms „Really?“ „Yes.“ He said and I raised my brow at him „And that's the only reason?“ He laughed shaking his head „All right, you caught me. I do have an ulterior motive for it.“ „Yeah, I figured that out already.“ I said and grinned „All right, so out with it.“ Now he grinned „Patience, angel.“ I laughed „Are we playing that game again?“ „We are, and we both know who will win.“ He said and grinned even more „Again.“ I chuckled shaking my head. „Fine. But just so you know, one day I will find out how to break your winning streak.“ I said to him all serious. „Is that a threat?“ he asked teasingly. „No“ I said, detaching from the doorframe , mischievous smile on my face „It's a promise. And I always keep my promises.“

„Better now?“ Jake asked looking at me with a raised eyebrow, as I took a big sip of my coffee sighing happily. „Better now.“ I hummed cheerfuly back at him. He chuckled leaning back in the chair. „You know, I wonder what would happen if you'd go a day without coffee.“ „Oh, god, don't.“ I said and shuddered at the though of it „That would definitely NOT be a good day.“ He laughed hard at it. „Well then, I'll let you enjoy the rest of your coffee in peace.“ He said getting up. „Right, the 'ulterior motive'.“ I said grinning at him. He smiled and leaned to me for a kiss. „I wont be long.“ „Don't worry, you're leaving me in a good company.“ I said taking another big sip of coffee and grinning at him, and he shook his head at me as he walked away. With him gone, I took my phone out to check some things online, enjoying my coffee and the warmth of the sun. I was casually scrolling through some pictures slouched in the chair, when someone blocked the sun from me. I looked up annoyed by it, and was surprised at seeing the person in front of me. „Hello, Maya.“ I straightened in my chair. The bruise on his face was still a bit visible. „Hello, Phil.“ I said with indifferent voice. „You're still pissed at me, I see.“ He said and I looked at him rising my eyebrow. „You think?“ „All right, I deserve that.“ He said. „Can I join you?“ „Not sure that's a good idea“ I said „Jake will be back shortly, and I doubt he would be thrilled at seeing you.“ „You know what? I don't care.“ He said pulling the chair and sitting across from me. „Suit yourself.“ I said leaning back in mine. „So, how are you?“ he asked lighting up a cigarette. „Really, Phil?“ I asked sarcastically „Small talk?“ He sighed desperatly, exhaling the cigarette smoke „Damn it, Maya, cut me some slack here.“ „You're kidding me, right?“ I asked surprised „After what you did, you expect me to go easy on you?“ „Hey, I was the one who ended up on the floor, so yes.“ He said and grinned. I shook my head and rolled my eyes at him. „And I am trying to apologise here.“ „It's not just me that you need to apologise to, Phil.“ I said. „I know that.“ He started „But with you first, I have a less chance of ending up with a new bruise.“ „Oh, I wouldn't be so confident about it if I was you.“ I said with a smirk. He laughed „ I knew I wasn't wrong about you.“ „What's that supposed to mean?“ I asked a bit defensively. „Relax, gorgeous.“ He said, and I looked at him warningly. „Sorry, old habbits.“ He said and grinned. „All right, Phil“ I said a bit annoyed „So far, all that I heard from you didn't sound remotely close to an apology.“ „Jesus, you really are a tough cookie.“ He said, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray a bit harshly. He looked back at me „I am sorry for what happened.“ He said, and I waited a little for him to continue, but he said nothing. „That's it?“ I asked surprised. „This has to be the lousiest apology I have ever heard.“ „Damn it, Maya, what do you want from me?“ he said, his voice starting to sound insecure. He took out another cigarette, lighting it up. „Well, a bit more then a simple 'sorry' was what I expected, to be honest.“ I said. He shook his head at me „You really can't comprehend it, can you?“ Now I got confused „What are you talking about?“ „You think this is easy for me?“ he said almost hissing it. „I was really into you, Maya, and I guess I still am. Belive me, I tried to move on, but dam it, you are not easy to let go off.“ I held my breath a this words. „And then the two of you parade in front of my eyes all happy and shit, and you expect me to just be ok with it?“ I didn't know if he wanted me to answer, but I could't say a word, feeling a knot in my throath. He laughed then „It's funny, you know“ he said „I always laughed at guys like that, thought of them as weak, whining about a girl that got away.“ He looked me in the eyes, his own with a sad touch in them, my heart squeezing at the sight of it. „How ignorant was I.“ I felt awful, his words hit hard at me. I never gave much thought of it all after we talked back then, when he assured me he

will be fine. But hearing all this from him now... „Phil“ I said softly, reaching for his hand, but he pulled it away before I had a chance to do it „Don't.“ He said sighing „And don't look at me liket that, please.“ „I'm sorry, Phil.“ I said and he laughed surprised „You are apologising to me now?“ „Yes“ I said „I had no clue how this all might be for you, I never wanted for any of this to happen. I really am sorry I made you feel this way.“ „Excellent, now I fell like even a bigger wimp.“ He said defeated. „Don't say that“ I said, reaching for his hand again, and this time he didn't pull it away. He looked at me. „I don't find you weak, or think of you being a wimp. It takes a lot of courage to admit what you just did to me.“ I said and squeezed his hand tight. He shook his head at me „You are really not making it any easier for me like this.“ I smiled awkwardly at him, moving my hand away „Sorry.“ I said, not knowing what more to say. I slouched sadly in my chair. „Don't worry, gorgeous.“ He siad and I looked at him. „I'll be fine, eventually.“ I smiled „I'm sure you will, Phil.“ „So“ he started, clearing his throath „Are we good now?“ „We are, as far as I'm concerned.“ I said and smiled. „Excellent!“ he said and grinned. He chuckled „Huh, I guess the hard part is done now.“ I chuckled back, but he got serious then, straightening in his chair. „Or was it?“ he said, and I looked confused at him, when I felt an arm on my shoulder „Everything all right here?“ I looked up, Jake staring intensly at Phil. I saw tension in his jawline, so I quickly covered his hand with mine „Everything is fine.“ He looked at me and I smiled reassuringly. „If you say so.“ He said, sitting down next to me, turning his look back to Phil. „So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?“ Jake asked him witha a bit of a menacing tone, taking my hand in his. Phil looked at Jake, a mixture of emotions on his face, and I felt a squeez at my heart again, so I quickly said „Phil was actually apologising for what happened.“ He looked at me, his eyes grateful for not making him say the words himself to Jake, and i smiled. „And I accepted his apology, from us both.“ I said, and Jake turned to me rising his eyebrow „Really?“ „Yes, really. I knew you would agree with me eitherway.“ I said, flashing him with the most charming smile I could make, knowing he wont be able to contradict me. „Don't tell me I was wrong?“ i said making a bit sad face, and he smiled at me „No, angel, you wer not.“ I smiled back at him, turning to Phil „Great, so that's settled then. Let bygones be bygones?“ I grinned, looking from Phil to Jake, until both reluclantly mumbled under their breaths something that sounded like 'fine' and 'sure'. „All right“ Phil said after a moment getting up „I'll be off now.“ Jake said nothing but I smiled at him „Take care, Phil. See you arround.“ He smiled back „ See you arround.“ He made a few steps, when he turned and walked back. „I just want to tell you one more thing, loverboy.“ He said, nad I tensed. His tone wasnt friendly at all, and I felt Jake tensing too, squeezing my hand tighter. „You better take care of her really good.“ He said his voice threatening. „Because, if anything happens to her, you better run, and fast. Before I can get my hands on you.“ He looked at me and winked before turning around and walking away casually. I just stared speechless after him. „Did he...just threatened me?“ Jake asked surprised, his grip to my hand relaxing. „It did sound that way.“ I said serious, but I was laughing inside at it. „He is aware that I don't have to use any physical force to make his life miserable, right?“ he said, and I turned to him. He was grinning devilishly still staring after Phil. „What ever diabolical thoughts are crossing your mind at the moment, disperse them.“ I said. „I have no idea what you're talking about.“ He said turning to me, trying to sound ignorant. „Jake, I'm being serious here.“ I said warningly, looking at him crossly „Leave Phil alone.“ „Fine.“ He groaned after a moment. „But only because you asked so

'nicely'.“

„So, are you finally gonna tell me where you went earlier?“ I asked him as we walked back to the motel. He looked sideways at me „Hmm, I could keep you on edge for a while more.“ „Oh, you're just being evil now!“ I protested and he laughed. „All right, all right. You have been really patiente, so here.“ He said, reaching to his back pocket handing me an envelope. I slowed my steps opening the envelope, and stopped when I saw what was in it. He stopped after a few more steps turning to me, and I ran and jumped to hug him. „Thank you, thank you, thank you!“ He chuckled „You're welcome, angel.“ I moved from him grinning „Are you really gonna endure watching an almost two hours long 'chick' movie with me?“ „If it makes you happy, yes.“ He said and smiled. I gave him a quick kiss „Thank you for this, really.“ I said as we started walking again. „It's something a normal couple would do.“ He laughed „ We definitely don't fall under that category.“ He hugged me with one hand „But you know, I will get a bit jelous, with you dreamily staring at the screen at Chris Hemsworth, with me sitting right next to you.“ „Oh, you dont have to get jelous“ I said grinning at him „After all, you will be the one I'll be going home with after.“

„I'm bored.“ Jake groaned, throwing himself on the bed next to me, my drawing pad jumping from my lap from it. „I can see that.“ I chuckled at him, taking my headphones off. „I have a great idea how you can help me with that.“ He grinned, burrying his face to my neck, leaving soft kisses. „Oh, as much as I like where this is going“ I said, reluctantly pushing him away „But I really need to finish with this before we go to the cinema.“ „You can be so cruel sometimes.“ He said, dramaticaly throwing his head on the pillow. I laughed, reaching for my phone that started to ring. „Hey, Jessy.“ I answered. „Hey, Maya.“ She said „Hope I'm not bothering you.“ „Ofcourse not, what's up?“ I asked. „Well, I'm actually calling to see if Jake is with you.“ she said, and I turned to look at him „He is.“ I said, and he looked confused at me. „Great. Is he bussy at the moment?“ she asked, and I grinned at him „Nop, he's not bussy at all.“ He made a face at me, and I chuckled silently. „What's happening, Jessy?“ „Oh, the end of the world is happening!“ she exclimed desperatly. „All right, calm down and explain.“ I said to her, trying not to laugh, knowing how Jessy can be overdramatic sometimes. „Calm down?!“ she boomed form the other side „I can't, Maya! I need some important things from my laptop for tomorrow for work, and it just started to act weird on me a minute ago! I can't do anything on it, I'm desperate.“ „Oh, thats not good, indeed.“ I said symphathetically. „Would you like me to send Jake over to take a look at it?“ „That would be great.“ She said hopefully „He really wouldn't mind coming?“ „Ofcourse not, Jessy.“ I said „He is bored, and I do have some work to do, so you are actually doing me a favore with draging him out of here.“ I grinned again at him, and he threw a pillow at me. „Yay, thank you so much!“ she said cheerfully „Tell him he can come over whenever he feels like it.“ „No worries, Jessy. He will be there shortly.“ „Thank you again, Maya. Talk to you soon.“ „Bye, Jessy.“ I putted the phone away, turning back to him grinning again. „There, now you have something to do.“ „Yeah, yeah.“ He said, getting up from the bed. „I get the hint.“ „Awww, dont be sulky.“ I said teasingly, coming to him, putting my hands arround his neck. „I'm almost done with my work, so if you finish fast with Jessys laptop, we might still have time for some fun before we have to go.“ He smiled mischievous at me „Oh, you just gave me a motivation to be fast with it.“ „Good“ I said kissing him. „Now, off you go, I'll be right here waiting eagerly.“

I was done with work after Jake left sooner then I expected, so I decided to take a quick shower. When done, I got dressed and I took my laptop sitting at the desk, finding some entertainment online to pass the time. My phone beeped with a new message, so I took it and smiled as I opened the chat.

Jake: Almost done here

Maya: That was really fast :P

Jake: You did gave me a motivation for it :P

Maya: And you weren't kidding about it :D

Jake: I never joke when that's in question ;)

Maya: Haha, I'll keep that in mind :)

Jake: See you soon, angel :)

Maya: Can't wait :)

The movie doesn't start before 9pm, and it was not even 7pm yet, so we still had plenty of time. I continued to browse stuff online, finding an interesting documentary to watch. I got so into it, when a knock at the door surprised me, making me jump in the chair. I turned to the doors, shaking my head at the sight of the keys sticking from the lock. I closed the laptop and got up, walking to the doors with a smile. I opened the doors grinning, ready with a witty comment on the subject of forgetfulness, the grin from my face dissapearing as i saw the person standing in front of me was not Jake. „Good evening, Miss Cole.“ I stared at the face of the unknow man, and the feeling of dread started to crawl at me. As I continued to look at thim, I thought there was something familiar about him to me, but i couldn't quite realize what. „I'm sorry“ I said, trying to hide the fear from my voice „Do I know you?“ „Not really.“ the man said, as the sinister smile formed on his lips. „But I tought the time has come for me to properly introduce myself.“

#duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake #duskwood mc #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood phil #duskwood jessy

[pixiealtaira]

And the Thunder Rolls

This is the first of my Glee Summer Bang fics...but I decided it was too gloomy.

It is a Klaine Break-Up Fic and this Not Klaine or Blaine friendly.

Takes place right after the end of Junior Year:

The crash of thunder shook the house.  Kurt looked out to the pouring rain.  It was nearly pushed horizontal by the wind. “Very Blustery, my ass. Hurricane force winds would have been a better description,” Kurt muttered as he watched chaos out the window.   Kurt still felt that being out in the storm would be preferable than where he was currently at, that the chaos outside would be safer and somehow 'less' than the chaos inside his being as he listened to Blaine. Lightening ripped through the sky, near enough for  Kurt to just see the light of the flash and not a actual bolt  and for the thunder to roll right after it and actually shake the house. He wondered if Finn knew he had a flashlight in his room.  Rachel didn't like power outages. Kurt leaned closer to the window to see if he could see where it might have landed.

“Kurt, I don't think you are listening to me.” Blaine whined behind him. “Do I need to go get Finn and Rachel and have them listen to this as well?  I am setting out guidelines for how I want our summer to be and you just aren't really paying attention to me.  Stop looking out the window and look at me, the boyfriend. I am beginning to think you don't actually love me at all.  You are not at all focused where you need to be focused.” “Blaine, I love you.  I told you that just a few days ago.  And yes, you are my boyfriend.  But that doesn't give you permission to dictate my summer.” Light brightened the whole room again and thunder shook the house and Kurt wished it would just hit the house.  Maybe stop what he suspected would be a defining moment to everything for the whole of the rest of his life. Blaine huffed. “I'm not dictating your summer.  I'm just letting you know how things need to be so we can see each other more often during the summer. My dad got me this job, you know, and it is Important that I am my best during the time I am working and performing.  Important people might be watching, you know.  Nila said that Jason, one of the boys who left the year before I could perform at all, got scouted and got a modeling job and a job as a back-up singer for a band.  That could be me this year, but only if I'm at the top of my game.  I I can only be at the top of my game when I know you are focused on me. You need to know when to keep yourself free to come see me and visit me. If you don't do this for me like I want it done, well then, I'm afraid we will just not be able to see each other at all.” “And I told you I am not going to be going to the amusement park and paying 80  to 100 bucks a day just to see you on your break periods, especially if I'm not 'allowed' to spend the rest of the time enjoying the park.  You can come here on your days off or I can meet you at your place on your days off.” “You cannot go to my place.  I mean...I just haven't exactly told my folks I have a boyfriend yet...so you'll have to wait for that.  And my days off are all booked with family stuff or other things I need to do.  If you love me, you'll come see me on the days I listed at the park.  It is the only acceptable option.  I just do not understand why you are having a problem with this.  A good boyfriend would be perfectly willing to do this for me, I'll have you know. And it's not like I'm asking more than others who work there have.  Nila's boyfriend was there three days a week last summer. Matt and Ryan both worked there, so I guess they don't really count, but it was so unfair watching those guys making out and whatnot and yet the rest of us had to just make due.  Now, this year, I'VE got the boyfriend and so you need to come to the park so I can have good breaks too.  You need to come on the days I listed earlier for certain and also whenever I text that the day would be a good day for you to be there. I NEED you to be there for me, Kurt.  I need to be able to show the others that I'VE got a boyfriend and that he does what I ask of him. But, you also can't like hang out with anyone, or talk to anyone...I mean, you are great and all but you just don't exactly talk about the kinds of things the other kids who work at the park do and so I need you to remember that...but also you need to make sure they know you are only at the park for me...you'll need to sit off to the side of where ever I am, just smiling and making eyes at me.” Kurt closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The lightening hit again and the thunder rolled and the lights in the house flickered and Kurt heard Rachel screech from Finn's room. There had been nothing in any of Blaine's demands for summer about wanting to spend time with Kurt, himself.  Just about wanting to have the boyfriend be there to be seen.  And curtailing as much joy as Blaine possibly could in his demanded excursions. “Blaine. You are being unreasonable.” “I am not. I am being perfectly reasonable. Boyfriends show up to support their significant other when their significant other wants them to, in whatever manner asked.  That is why people have boyfriends and girlfriends.  To have them there when they want them to be there for them.  To show off.  And if you do things the way I told you you need to, everyone will see how devoted you are to me, and to me alone.  It will do wonders for what the others think of me, you there just sitting and looking at me and not even thinking of anything other than me. But, don't try too hard.  And like, don't practice making sexy faces or longing faces or anything.  You don't do sexy.  You do longing OK, so maybe stick to staring at me longingly. It will be cute. Then it will be perfect. I mean, Nila's boyfriend just stopped by to make out with her when lines were too long for rides he wanted to ride, he didn't focus on her only.  Just think how jealous she will be when MY boyfriend just pays attention to Me in such a cute way.”   “No” The flash of lightening hit close enough that even the air in the house felt charged.  The thunder was nearly deafening. It wasn't loud enough to cover Blaine's scream. “What do you mean 'No'? You are my boyfriend, you can't just say no.” “I did just say No. No. I am not going the amusement park, at over 100 bucks a pop when you add travel and food, multiple days over the summer just to sit and stare at you...it is just not happening. There are many reasons why....not the least of which is I would be bored out of my mind. I don't have the time, or money, or inclination to be some sort of living statue for you to use to boost you ego in some sort of ego war with your co-workers. I have work, too, Blaine. And I NEED my paychecks that I get over the summer to be able to enjoy my school year.  They pay for my clothing, any time spent shopping or out to the movies or dinner or coffee or anything else fun.  I could maybe do ONE trip to the amusement park to see you...and to enjoy the park when you can't be with me and thus get my money's worth. I can not go at least twice a week every week all summer long, with a third or maybe even fourth trip to see you on demanded days at a texts notice.” “But Kurt, if you loved me...” And Kurt saw the next bolt of lightening hit.  It hit a transformer on one of the street light poles the block over and half a block down. The thunder shook the house as the lights went out. Rachel screamed like Finn was stabbing her or something.  Finn started screaming as well, telling her to calm down.  Kurt was glad, though, because with the power out Blaine could not see the tears running down his face, with with how Kurt was standing. “I guess I don't love you then.  Not if that is what you think Love requires of me. ” Kurt said, turning to look at Blaine instead of a flames spouting from the blown transformer.  He could already hear the sirens of the police and fire trucks responding to it. “And if you loved ME, and not just the notion of a boyfriend, you would have never demanded any of what you have today.” “Of course I love you.” “No, you don't.  Because if you did, you would know me well enough to not have come here and said any of what you have said in the last hour. You would know me well enough to know I can't afford your plan in the first place.  We don't have that kind of money. You would have listened to me enough to know that I will have a full 40 hour week at the garage every week, and will have hours of work at other places as well.  You would have known about other demands on my time over the summer.  You would have realized I would like to be able to do things with you that I would like to do as well, like go  swimming or go to play mini-golf. Or take you to the car shows with me and have you ride in the parades at the fairs with me.  You would know that I don't like just sitting doing nothing for long periods of time. But you don't seem to know or care about any of that, so you must not actually love me.” “Now Kurt, stop being hysterical and silly. You know none of that is true. You might work at the garage but what do you actually do there, huh? Sweep?  No one needs you there, and what else do you really have to do...that is as important or more important than me?  It is just, face it, your time and my time are not equal.  My folks plans are important.  I need to be there and show up with acceptable company, so  those periods of time are out.  My work...performing is hard, Kurt and the rest of the work at the park is just as difficult.  Do you even know what it is like to have to deal with parents who are upset because their kid is too small for a ride?  That is so much more challenging than anything you might be doing.” “And that just proves you don't actually love me at all.  Blaine, as soon as this storm calms, you need to go home.  Have a great summer. Maybe if I get in touch with Jeff or Nick or anyone else from Dalton, I'll have them say Hello from me, but I won't be getting hold of you for a while.  I need a clean break.  And you need someone else, who can love you like you think love works.” “What are you talking about?” “I am breaking up with you.  This isn't what I want from a relationship. It isn't what I need.” Kurt turned around again and stared out the window.  The lightening strike was far enough away that the whole sky didn't seem to light up with it.  Kurt counted a full Mississippi before he heard the thunder. Blaine was still talking to him, trying to tell him he couldn't break up with him and  how mistaken Kurt was and how Kurt was purposefully being difficult and misunderstanding everything and making a big show and fuss about things. The rain was coming down more vertically again, just as hard and violently, but in a more natural angle and Kurt could tell the fire was out over where the lightening had hit.  He could see a vehicle from the power company over in the area.  The chaos was calming...and things seemed to be easing up.  Kurt wouldn't be surprised if within the next half hour the storm had settled into an steady gentle rain. Oddly enough, he rather felt like he'd settled into an oddly calm and settled state as well.  He wondered if he'd feel bad latter, if he'd feel more crushed and upset at the end of his first relationship, but for now...he felt like he was easing into a peaceful gentle state of being. Not sunshine yet, but the knowing that it could be soon.

#glee fic #Kurt Hummel

[kpop-zone]

1,2,5,7 | Irene

Wordcount: 2,220

Genre: fluff

Request: Can you do a scenario where Irene is insecure about her relationship w male or genderneutral S/O because of their age gap but S/O reassures her everything is okay. Fluff please and thank you for your hard work

“No, no, no. You have to snap first, then swing and slide out of the picture at the end.”

As soon as Joohyun opened the front door, she could hear a turmoil of voices, music and laughter coming from one of the rooms. In confusion, she furrowed her brow, pricking her ears in order to find out where the source of the noise was located. It was a task that didn’t demand a lot of her time due to the small size of the apartment and she let her feet carry her to Yeri’s room. The door was left ajar wherefore Joohyun lightly gave it a push in order to be able to stick her head through the gap unnoticed.

Inside of the room, she was met with chaos. Yeri and you were standing in front of her bed where Sooyoung was placed strategically, holding a phone that was recording the two of you executing a number of dance moves that were unknown to Joohyun.

“Ok let’s take it from the top.”

Yeri piped up and you nodded in agreement.

Sooyoung gave the two of you a thumbs up before pressing a button on the screen and letting the camera roll again. Simultaneously, Yeri and you started dancing until you clumsily bumped your heads together. Wild laughter broke out in the room and you fell to the floor holding your belly.

“Oops I suppose it was the other left.”

You choked out between laughter while Yeri jokingly hit you for your mistake.

“Maybe we’re not meant to be TikTok famous.”

Sooyoung giggled on the bed before turning off the camera that had been recording the mess until now.

All of you seemed to have the time of your lives and Joohyun was happy to see the wide smile on your face, but at the same time, something seemed to be painfully tugging on her heartstrings: her insecurities. Your relationship hadn’t always been smooth; the two of you had actually had a rocky start. You were perfect in every regard. You were gorgeous, smart, funny, chivalrous... Joohyun could go on and on. Nevertheless, you had one flaw. Your age.

In the beginning, Joohyun hadn’t even taken your advances serious. You were so young, and she simply thought that you were fooling around. Besides, she couldn’t risk staining her scandal-free reputation. She knew that dating someone a lot younger was frowned upon in society. But you had been so persistent; trying to win her over relentlessly until she couldn’t deny her heart its way. You weren’t immature like some others your age and you had seriously sparked her interest. She wanted to get to know you better and eventually accepted your dinner invitation.

After that night, Joohyun had never really managed to cut herself off from you again and the two of you soon made your relationship official. Everything was working great, except that she hadn’t been able to shake another thing aside from you. Something else had stuck to her ever since; something that was making her heart sink right now like so many times before. Her insecurities.

What would the public say if they found out about your relationship? Did you even know yet what you truly wanted? Could she even give you that?

You always assured her that the age gap didn’t matter; the two of you weren’t doing anything illegal after all. Love wasn’t based on mathematics or logic. Nevertheless, moments like this were able to overthrow all of your good arguments over and over again. You always seemed to be so happy when you were with someone more your age. What benefit did you have dating someone like her? You were making her feel young, but what was she giving you in return? She was probably only stopping you from doing reckless, and foolish stuff.

A desperate sigh accidentally slipped through Joohyun’s lips that made her hold her breath. She didn’t want to be caught lurking, but it was already too late. Three pairs of eyes landed on her the same time and one face lit up in particular.

“Joohyun!”

You exclaimed happily before leaping to your feet to come closer.

Joohyun, who was still caught up in her tangled thoughts, didn’t move an inch, but that didn’t seem to bother you. Gently you rested your hand on her hip and pressed a kiss on her cheek, very closely to her mouth.

“Had a good day?”

You asked when you pulled away, parading your perfect smile that had always managed to make her heart beat faster. Not wanting to worry you, Joohyun quickly nodded before steering her gaze to the floor in order to avoid your X-ray vision. But apparently you had already noticed her inner struggle. Automatically, you tightened your grip on her hip and pulled her subtly closer.

“Guys, I’m gonna grab a bite. Let’s continue later.”

You said over your shoulder without awaiting a response from the others before gently pushing Joohyun through the apartment to the kitchen. She didn’t refuse your guiding hand, nevertheless, Joohyun knew that she didn’t want to talk about her worries. You would probably just play them off and there wasn’t really a solution anyways. Wordlessly, she sat down at the kitchen counter as you grabbed some leftovers from the fridge to heat them up while tensed silence soon surrounded you.

“So...how was work?”

You asked eventually to break the silence, causing Joohyun to almost sigh in relief; apparently you were thinking that her taciturnity was caused by an incident at work.

“Stressful like always.”

She answered rather shortly, not wanting to make up a reason for her changed demeanor.

You kept asking a few more questions to probe, but Joohyun blocked all of your efforts to get a conversation started until silence settled between the two of you again and nothing but the eventual clattering of your plates could be heard in the room. The atmosphere was incredibly uncomfortable and Joohyun felt like all the unanswered questions in her head were slowly creeping up her throat and choking her. She needed answers, but at the same time, she felt like she needed to be the bigger person. What use would it be to burden you with her worries?

Eventually, however, she couldn’t take the silence anymore and coughed silently to cut the tension.

“Um...the dance Yeri and you have been doing seemed to be fun. I’m guessing, I’m too old for that.”

Joohyun chuckled jokingly, although she couldn’t be more worried about that topic. She hadn’t intended to steer the conversation in that direction, but in her mind the pictures of her younger members and you dancing together kept playing on repeat, making it impossible to think about anything else. Sheepishly, she glanced up from her plate to observe your reaction. You had stopped eating and tilted your head as if you were thinking about her statement concentratedly.

“Yeah it’s a new trend. Everyone is doing it. You could too. You’re not too old, Joohyun. I’m sure your fans would love to see you uploading such videos more often.”

For a second, your gaze lingered on her, causing Joohyun to quickly start playing with her food to distract herself. She only hummed in response to your statement, not wanting to get more into that topic. You seemed to have caught up to her intention and dropped the conversation, deciding to let the rest of your dinner pass in silence.

The unspoken words between the two of you, however, stayed as an unpleasant disturbance, making it obvious to Joohyun that you weren’t satisfied with her silence. You didn’t address her weird behavior though and so she hoped that time would make you forget all about it. And her plan seemed to have worked. A week passed without you bringing up the most silent dinner that you had ever spent together and Joohyun began working on pushing her insecurities back to her subconscious and into oblivion. A slightly bitter taste stayed and it still felt like you were rubbing salt in her wound whenever you talked about your friends that were much younger than her or used some slang word that she had never heard of, but that was just a subtle pain that she had almost grown used to.

Joohyun was ready to leave this dilemma behind.

There was not much that she could do about it anyways. She would enjoy this relationship as long as it lasted and if you should end up leaving her, she would accept it and simply hold onto the memories that you had made together. She would not bring this topic up and ask for an affirmation of your love.

You, however, seemed to have made other plans.

It was a normal Friday evening when Joohyun was coming home from a dance practice unsuspectingly. As soon as she unlocked the front door though, she realized that something was different. The apartment was only dimly lit and a lot quieter than usual. There was also a subtle smell of some delicious food in the air and Joohyun reflexively closed her eyes to savor the much-needed tranquility. Some clattering from the kitchen, however, made her open her eyes again and she walked into the apartment, suddenly noticing photos being scattered across the whole place.

“What’s going on?”

Joohyun mumbled dumbfounded while slowly spinning around to scan her surroundings.

The sound of nearing footsteps caused her to halt her movements and she saw you standing in the doorframe of the kitchen, dressed in an apron with a satisfied smile on your lips.

“What’s all that?”

Joohyun gasped shocked, letting her gaze wander in the room, still finding more and more pictures.

“A reminder.”

You answered softly while walking closer to her.

“A reminder?”

Joohyun asked confused, contemplating whether today was a special day.

“Yes, a reminder to show you how insanely happy you have made me ever since I know you.”

Your words caused Joohyun’s face to heat up and she giggled like a little kid. Before she could complain about your cheesiness, however, you had already come up to her from behind and wrapped your arms around her. Joohyun turned her head to be able to look at you, but you fondly stared at the pictures in front of you, so she followed your gaze. The photos showed a variety of memories that you had collected together. Your candlelight dinner in Busan, your wellness weekend on Jeju island or your failed fishing trip in Sokcho that still managed to make Joohyun break out in laughter whenever she reminiscent about it. However different your adventures had been though, they all had one thing in common: the wide smiles that they had conjured to your faces. No matter which picture Joohyun looked at, the pure happiness that the two of you radiated made her feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“We really have collected some amazing memories together, haven’t we?”

Joohyun asked rhetorically with a fond smile on her lips, already knowing that you would agree with her.

“Yes we have. Because it doesn’t matter what it is that we do. As long as we are together, we can make everything worthwhile. You and me, Joohyun. I wouldn’t have wanted to experience all of those things with anyone else. You are the one supposed to be by my side.”

As you were speaking, Joohyun realized that you must have gotten to the bottom of her weird behavior lately and uncovered her insecurities. But at the same time, with every word that you uttered, they became less. You were right. The two of you seemed to be separated by a big age gap, but what about it? What was the meaning of time anyways? Your adventures were able to make the days fly by, but seeing your smile felt like an eternity spent in heaven and a kiss from you was able to stop time entirely. Why did she doubt your happiness because of some stupid numbers? The realness of it could be seen in every picture, could be heard in every love declaration and could be felt in the way your fingertips softly caressed her skin. What you had was real and she wouldn’t let anyone take that away from her.

“I hope we will take a lot more pictures in the future.”

Joohyun said while turning in your arms to face you.

“Of course we will. Starting from now.”

You grinned while pulling out your phone from your back pocket. Joohyun chuckled in response but cuddled up to you and looked into the camera, ready to capture this moment in order to always have a reminder of this night whenever her doubts would start getting the better of her again.

Your lips met her cheek and conjured a contagious smile to her face. Once again, this photo would be a proof of the endless happiness that flooded through her body whenever she was with you. There was nothing on this earth that could separate you. Your hearts were beating as one; along to its own rhythm, its own calculation of time.

1,2,5,7

Did it all make sense? No. But that didn’t make it any less real. Love was simply controlled by a higher power that didn’t let itself be confined. And Joohyun was finally ready to accept that.

#red velvet scenario #red velvet #red velvet imagine #irene scenario #irene #joohyun #joohyun scenario #irene imagine #girl group scenario #girl group #kpop scenario #kpop #girl group imagine

[ikeromantic]

A Very Strange New Year’s Eve

An Ikemen Vampire fanfic. Approx 6K words. This was supposed to go up for Jan 1, but I didn’t finish in time. I considered just not posting, but went ahead and finished it. So . . . 3 months past the holiday, but hey! 

The mansion was bustling with activity on New Year’s Eve. It was tradition in this time for men to go from estate to estate, drinking and dancing, singing and carousing. Few ever made it out as far as le Comte’s country home, but Sebastian wasn’t about to let that excuse him from preparations. And you got recruited to help.

First there was the front courtyard, now a wonderland of ice sculptures and colored lanterns. Red ribbons graced the bare branches of trees, and winter flowering plants dotted the path to the door. The entry way was a ballroom, cleared of furniture and hung with garlands of ivy and mistletoe. Then there were the refreshment tables with carefully crafted centerpieces . . .

“Sebas. Comte says no one comes out this far. Can’t we just call this good enough,” you whine. “I’d really like to just enjoy the rest of the holiday.”

Sebastian moves faster than you’d expect, given he’s like you - just human. But there’s no way you could dodge the thump he lands in the center of your forehead. 

“Ouch! Wh-what was that for?”

“You should start the new year as you plan to continue. Do you really want to spend it lazing around instead of getting things done?” Sebastian’s mild frown is almost worse than the sting on your forehead.

You sigh. “Fine. Yes. So what else do I need to do?”

Sebastian gestures with his chin toward the stairs. “Comte needs someone to bring him the case from the study. Why don’t you do that and see what else he needs, since you’ve no head for decorating.”

“Alright.” You hurry up the stairs. 

Comte is already in the study, case in hand. He notices you come in and his lips curl up in a wistful smile. “Did Sebas chase you away from his masterpiece?”

“Yeah. I’m not . . . enthusiastic enough. Anyway, he said you needed some help up here?”

Comte nods, gesturing to some books. “You can carry those for me. Come along.”

The books are obviously old, the bindings a thick leather. Symbols are burned into them that you don’t recognize. “What are these for?”

“The turn of the new year provides a brief window for certain experiments. Those are notes and guides from other studies,” Comte explains. 

“Like magic?” You eye the books suspiciously. “Is it something like the door?”

Comte chuckles. “Yes, I suppose you could say it’s something like the door. Manipulating time is a narrowly explored side of alchemy. Science, more than magic, ma cherie.” He stops at a door you hadn’t noticed before and unlocks it. 

Inside there are a variety of strange looking devices. Twisted metal constructs, oddly shaped glass containers, shelves of bizarre looking ingredients and other things your eye can’t quite focus on. You step inside but Comte holds out a hand to stop you.

“That’s far enough. This room is not . . . safe . . . I’d appreciate it if you’d set the books down at the door.”

Your skin breaks out in little goosebumps as you step back out of the doorway. “Alright. Well, was there anything else you wanted me to do?”

Comte turns. “There is. Would you make sure everyone is out of the mansion before 9 this evening? Help them hurry along. I need peace and quiet if I’m to make progress. And I’d hate for any of you to be caught up in unexpected side effects of my experiments.”

“Side effects?” You stand a little straighter, suddenly nervous.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but yes. Sometimes these tests produce unintended effects that spread beyond my laboratory.” He smiles as if this is unimportant. “So, can you make sure everyone is out by sunset?”

You nod. “Sure. Vincent is going out with Will to see some musical at the Moulin Rouge. Arthur, Dazai, and Theo are going to the Parade of Fools . . . I think Isaac and Napoleon are visiting an orphanage? And Jean is going to Notre Dame to pray. But I don’t think Leo or Sebas planned to go out anywhere.” And neither did I, you mentally add.

“Well, you must convince them. I am sure you’ll think of something.” He takes the books from you and closes the door. As soon as it shuts, you almost don’t notice it’s there again. Weird. But there’s no time to stand around and stare at a locked door. You’ve got a mission. 

First you stop in to check on Arthur. Dazai and Theo are in the room with him, dressed in ridiculous colors and patterns. “Looks like a little bird stopped in to see what we’re up to,” Arthur grins at you from where he sits at the edge of his bed. 

“Just making sure you’re on time. Can’t be late for the uh, the parade.” You realize you aren’t entirely sure what that is but parades usually start at a certain time so - it makes sense, right?

Dazai grabs your elbow, guiding you inside. “Yes, thank you Toshiko-san. Are you hoping to come with us?”

Theo scoffs, “No puppies allowed.” 

Arthur stands and you realize his shirt is unbuttoned. His chest is more muscled than any writer ought to be. Your eyes can’t help but run from his sternum down to the buckle of his belt. “I don’t know, Theo. Could be fun to bring our skirt along.” He runs a finger along your jaw line, earning a frown from Dazai.

Theo shakes his head. “No. Look at her. Just touching her cheek turns the girl into a tomato. Can you imagine her face at the feast of fools? No.”

Dazai nudges Arthur back with his shoulder as he turns you to face the door. “Well, that is that Toshiko-san. It seems this is a boys only trip.”

“But - but I didn’t ask to go. I just, I need to make sure you leave before it gets dark.” You protest.

“Yeah, yeah. We got it hondje.” The door closes on Theo’s dismissal. You hear Arthur’s laughter as you head down the hall. Well.You delivered your message at least. 

Next you decide to check on Vincent. He is painting with a look of intent focus. The canvas shows a field of flowers, their edges blending together in ways that make your head swim. You feel like you could drown in that picture but not tonight. Tonight, you have a job. “Vincent!”

He turns, his blue eyes wide with surprise. When he sees you, he smiles. “Oh! Did Will send you to get me? Is it already time to go?”

“No, er, yes,” you stumble over your answer. It’s hard to think straight with those big baby blues trained on you. “I mean, yes, you should get ready to go and no - I haven’t seen Will.” 

Vincent looks a little confused, but turns to put down his paint and brush. “I guess you’re right. It will take me a bit to put the paints away and clean my brushes. I should start now. Would it be ok if I asked you to help?”

You are just about to say yes. After all, spending time around Vincent is always pleasant and it’s still basically what Comte asked you to do - but before your mouth opens, a pair of cool, smooth hands come around your waist and pull you tight against a narrow, wiry chest. 

“And hast thy tongue given voice to words untrue? Or did thine eyes pass me over me as I stood on the stair awaiting your pleasant greetings?”

“Will!” You try to politely pull away from him, but he holds fast. 

“Shall I take my revenge on you for such rude welcome? Or perchance, I only need keep you close to sooth the ache your averted gaze has given my heart.” Will set his head on your shoulder so that his lips brush your cheek.

“Will! Since you’re here, you can help me with the brushes,” Vincent exclaims. He takes hold of one of Shakespear’s hands, tugging the bard away from you.

Reluctantly, Will releases you. “Ah, friend Vincent. I could not deny you this. Besides, if I refuse, we would be late!”

Vincent chuckles. “Sorry. I got carried away with this painting. I appreciate the help. I’m sure we’ll be finished in plenty of time.”

You nod, backing toward the door. “Well, you two better hurry. Comte needs the mansion to himself tonight, so you need to get going.”

This seems to get Will’s interest, but he doesn’t get a chance to pry as Vincent hauls him off to clean brushes.

You escape the room to go check on your toughest target. Leonardo. The narcoleptic genius. The tobacco scented DILF. The most infuriating member of the mansion . . . da Vinci. You knock on his door, certain he’s there thanks to the present smell of fresh tobacco smoke and the warm light coming from under the door.

No response. 

You knock again and call out. “Leo? Comte sent me!”

Nothing.

“I know you’re in there!” You try the knob and find the door unlocked. The room beyond is a disaster area. Bits of wire, gears, pretty rocks, books, and only Lumiere knows what else cover every surface except the bed. 

Leonardo is lounging against a mound of pillows, his cat perched above his head, a book open on his chest. His bare chest. His wide, muscled, gorgeous . . .

You clear your throat. 

He finally opens his eyes. “Ah, cara! Why are you in my room? Did you need something?” He doesn’t sit up or shift position. Or cover his distractingly visible self.

You clear your throat again and will the heat in your face away. “Uhm, ah, Comte wanted me to tell you - ah - he needs you to go someplace tonight.” You manage to get the message out by fixing your eyes on the mess and not the man. 

“I didn’t plan to go anywhere,” Leo shrugs. He turns the page in his book. Lumiere cracks one golden eye open to watch you.

“Yeah, well. Comte needs you to go out. He’s doing an experiment.”

At this, Leonardo sits up a bit, disturbing the cat. Lumiere hops down in a huff and begins to pick his way through the unholy pile of crap on the floor. “An experiment? Well. Then I should go along, I suppose.” He grins at you and it’s one of those dangerous smiles of his. “Could you put this book up for me while I find my shirt?”

“Sure?” You carefully walk over and around the mess, wobbling with each uneasy step. 

When you’re in arms’ reach, he grabs you by the waist and tugs you onto the bed. Onto his chest. His bare skin against the backs of your thighs. “Wh-what the hell, Leonardo?!” You sort of struggle to stand, instinct fighting pride. 

“Oh, sorry cara mia. You looked like you might fall.” His dangerous grin was still firmly in place, his golden eyes laughing. 

“If I was going to fall, it’s your fault. You need to clean this place up!” 

“I would. I’m just so busy.” He tries to help you up, his hands touching you on your legs, your hip, your everywhere - completely unnecessarily - until you get back on your feet. “Maybe you can come help me, hm?” 

You try to frown at him but your heart is racing and your cheeks are pink. The look has no impact except to make him smile wider. “Maybe. You can ask me tomorrow, but right now, can you find someplace else to be?”

“I think I’ll go watch the fireworks,” he sighs. “It would be even more beautiful with company . . .”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone to watch it with,” you snap back. Then you hurry out before he can reply. But you’re not fast enough. You never are.

“I already found you, cara . . .” His voice, like warm honey, follows you down the hall. It takes you a moment to shake it off. This is not the time to go all doe-eyed. Not when you’ve got Jean to deal with.

He isn’t in his room. Or the library. You find him in the studio, doing, of all things, aerobics. Of course, Jean d’Arc invented aerobics for soldiers so it shouldn’t surprise you but it does. Or maybe it’s just seeing him covered in sweat, his linen undershirt stuck to his skin. Thin silk leggings clinging indecently to . . . 

“Mademoiselle?” His empty one-eyed gaze brings you back to the moment and your purpose here. 

“Sorry to interrupt Jean. I was coming to check on you because -” you pause. Jean and Comte don’t get along well. If you tell him le Comte needs him gone, it might have the opposite effect. So instead, you say, “I was thinking of visiting Notre Dame with you. I wasn’t sure when you were leaving.”

He looks disturbed. “Right now. You won’t be able to accompany me.” He moves toward the door, all leonine grace. 

“Don’t you need to clean up first?” He pauses, looks down at himself and frowns. “Yes . . .” 

“Then we have plenty of time. I’ll meet you up front.”

“Mademoiselle -”

Unlike the golden-eyed flirt upstairs, it’s easy to escape Jean before he’s had his say. You feel bad for doing it, but you haven’t been to see the cathedral yet and this is as good an excuse as any.

The hour is growing late, and you know you don’t have much time. You head to Isaac’s room where thankfully, he and Napoleon are gathering the last of their supplies for this little mission. Food and warm coats for the children, nothing fancy but special enough to give the orphans a happy new year. 

“Hello you two!” You stand in the doorway, grinning at the way Isaac hops up at your voice. And Napoleon’s warm, slow smile.

“If it isn’t my nunuche. Come to help us pack?” 

Isaac shook his head. “We’re pretty much done. No help needed. You can go.”

“Oh? Well . . . I wasn’t really here to help out anyway. Sorry ‘Leon. I just wanted to see how soon you’d be leaving.”

“Do we need to rush?” Napoleon set a hand on one of the packages as if he might pick it up and go now. 

“No, I don’t think so. But soon? Comte is doing some sort of experiment tonight. Wants the mansion to himself.”

“An experiment?” Isaac’s eyes light up with interest.

You can’t help but smile at how adorable he looks. “I don’t think it’s the kind of experiment you’d want to be involved in. Less physics, more hocus-pocus.”

“Hocus what?” Napoleon looks confused.

“Nevermind,” you shush him. “Are you about done?”

“Just a few more items to pack,” Isaac reassures you. “We’ll be out within the hour.”

“Perfect.” You smile at them. Isaac looks away, fiddling with his shirt. Napoleon grins back at you. 

That smile reminds you of all the surprise kisses you’ve got, waking him up for breakfast. Incorrigible man. You turn to go, with one last target in mind. The hardest target, in fact. 

“Oh Sebas?”

Sebastian turns from the table he’s decorating. You see a measuring tape in his hand which he quickly tucks into his pocket.

“Were you . . . checking the distance between that candle stick and the crystal dessert tray?” You can’t help the way your eyebrows go up or the rise in pitch. 

Sebas coughs. “Of course not. I was . . . merely . . .” He stops. His eyes narrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be upstairs assisting le Comte?”

“I am! I was, I mean. He sent me down to tell you we need to get out of the mansion for the evening. He’s doing an experiment.” You aren’t going to let Sebastian intimidate you with his perfect butleriness. Not tonight!

“An experiment you say? Did he mention what?” He lowers his voice as if to add just to himself, “I haven’t seen him perform an experiment first hand yet. What a fascinating entry that would be . . .”

You clear your throat. “You know I can hear you, right? Besides. I don’t think le Comte wants any observers.”

Sebastian turns to look at the beautifully decorated parlor and entryway. It is breathtaking. The colors, the placement, the food . . . it’s a shame to waste it. “Surely we can stay long enough to see if some guests arrive,” he ventures.

“You could ask.” 

“Or you could run along and ask for me. I have a few more things to finish here.” Sebas gestures to the absolutely perfect decor.

You frown. “It looks done to me. And it doesn’t matter anyway.” 

The two of you argue good-naturedly back and forth until Arthur, Dazai, and Theo come traipsing down the stairs. 

“Would you quit yapping, hondje? I can hear you all the way in my room. With the door shut!”

Arthur elbows him. “Come on chap, that’s an exaggeration. It was only with the door open.”

Dazai gives you a wink. “I think you are both teasing Toshiko-san. Her voice is too beautiful to complain of hearing. Like birdsong in the morning.”

“I’m not a fan of that myself,” Napoleon chimes in on his way down the stairs. He has a box almost as big as he is in his arms. Isaac is right behind him, carrying another man-sized container. 

You aren’t sure if you should be insulted or flattered at this point, and in the end, it doesn’t matter. Because just as you’re about to speak up, Leonardo comes up behind Isaac a little too quickly, startling the physicist. 

Isaac drops his box, which tumbles down to take out Napoleon. Napoleon’s box goes flying and in seconds, the whole entryway is covered in children’s clothes and shoes, and little baggies of candy. 

Sebastian looks as if he might cry. 

Napoleon starts to laugh, one of his hard, belly-shaking, can’t-stop fits. 

Which of course, is when Jean arrives. He looks down from the top of the stair like a visitor in a madhouse, watching the patients with a look of chagrin. 

“I suppose we need to help pick all this up before we go,” Theo grumbles. 

Arthur gives a reluctant nod as Dazai bends to lift a tiny little dress that looks as if it was made to fit a toddler. “This is almost Toshiko’s size, isn’t it?”

You punch him lightly in the arm. “It might fit my foot . . . thanks.” 

Vincent and Will are the next on scene, and while angelic Vincent immediately rushes to help, Shakespeare just looks sad that he missed the mayhem.

“Would that we were just a moment quicker. I could have caught the look of surprise on Isaac’s face and watched this riotous madness unfold.” 

“Will,” you frown. “Can you just help pick stuff up? This is taking forever and le Comte said-” 

The hall clock rings the hour. Nine. Precisely the time you were all supposed to be out of the mansion. 

Surely, you think, surely le Comte would make certain he was alone before doing anything dangerous. Right? 

A wave of heat rushes through the house as if something burst in its stone center. The air ripples and the walls bend and flex as if they were made of soft pudding. Colors flow and blend in bizarre combinations that end in black. Darkness and silence. 

You realize you’re lying on the tile floor of the entryway. Your eyelids feel heavy and your head is pounding. You open them carefully, hoping the world is ok and you are ok, and all the residents of the mansion are fine too. Above you, the ribbons and lights Sebas strung up are still hanging. You turn your head. There’s the table, and the remains of the mess. 

And sitting in the middle of a pile of clothes is a . . . a little boy. With blonde hair and big blue eyes. He looks at you and smiles like an angel.

“Umm, hi,” you say and give him a wave. 

“Hi.” He imitates your gesture. 

Where did the kid come from? And where are the vampires? You sit up and look around. And there’s another kid! This one looks a little older. Dark black hair, eyes like big round jade beads. He’s naked, sleeping with his little butt in the air, legs curled under him, head on another pile of clothes. 

You scramble to your feet, beginning to panic. There are other children in the room. A little boy with strawberry brown hair and cherry-blossom eyes is constructing a tower from silverware, assisted by another boy with dark grey hair and amber eyes. 

A little boy on the steps is trying desperately to tie Jean’s eye patch to his head and hold a bit of shirt to his chest, only he can’t because two hands isn’t enough. 

You slap yourself to wake up. 

A tiny little hand tugs at your skirt. “No. No owies.” 

You look down to see another blue-eyed tot, this one with chestnut hair. He is staring up at you in disapproval and the expression looks damn familiar. “Theo?”

He grunts, which is probably a yes. “Pancakes. Want pancakes.” He tugs your skirt in the direction of the kitchen.

Definitely Theodorus. You crouch to look him in the eye. “Huh. Pancakes? Alright. If I’m stuck in a dream about kiddie vampires, I might as well make them pancakes.”

Your words draw the attention of most of the boys. They crowd around you, herding you toward the kitchen. All except Mozart who is on the table, tapping champagne glasses with a spoon. He glances at you in annoyance before resuming his table-symphony.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you tell them. “I’ll make pancakes, but first you’ve got to get dressed.” You point at the clothes on the floor. You notice one messy-haired boy picking his nose. “And wash your hands.” 

“Are they . . . are they all children,” asks a confused voice from behind you. Sebastian stands up from where he fell, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“No. I’m just having a very weird dream,” you inform him.

Sebastian pinches you. It hurts. “No. If this was a dream, that should have ended it,” he says after a moment.

“You could have pinched yourself,” you mutter.

“Not if it’s your dream.” He glances around, counting the little boys that are scrambling into their clothes. “Seems all of them are accounted for except le Comte. Have you seen him since you got up?”

“I just woke up a few minutes ago. I’ve only seen these,” you gesture to the group, then reach out to snag Dazai before he empties a pitcher of champagne over the sleeping Napoleon. 

The little dark haired trickster wriggles out of your grip and runs off laughing. You’re pretty sure you need to keep a close eye on that one. 

“Then I will go upstairs and check on him. You take this lot to the dining room. I think some food will settle them down.” He watches as Jean, dressed now in an adorable red and white frock, chases after Will with a fork. “It seems they have no memory of themselves.”

“I don’t know about that. Theo has his usual frown. And he asked for pancakes.” 

Sebastian nods. “Probably elements of his personality that existed when he was a child. Just a guess. Hopefully le Comte will know more.”

“Hopefully he can reverse this,” you reply. The idea of spending your life with immortal children is terrifying. At least, you think, they are out of diapers. 

As Sebas bounds up the stairs, you herd the (now dressed) munchkins into the dining room. They tumble forward, all little knees, elbows and fists, knocking over vases and coat hangers and a chair on the way.

Little Arthur stumbles onto the carpet and his eyes begin to tear up. Vincent kneels down beside him to check the ouchie while Theo pats him gently on the head as you would to calm a dog. 

You bend down to see if the tyke is ok. His leg is a little red where he bumped it, but probably fine. “Do you want some ice?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No. No. Pick me up. Pwease?” His eyes get big as he pleads with you. 

Unable to say no, you lift him into your arms. He’s a little heavy, but not more than a sack of flour anyway. “Is that better?”

“Mhmm.” Arthur gives you an endearing smile. He lays his head on your chest and sighs happily. 

“Ok, but I’m going to have to put you down to make pancakes. Alright?”

Arthur doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t complain when you settle him in a chair. You realize then that this is not going to work. These seats are for grown adults, not little kids. 

Before you can think of how to solve it, little Leonardo does it for you. “I have a big books,” he announces. And grabs Jean and Napoleon by the hand. “Get a books.”

The three of them tromp merrily away, with you not sure if you ought to go with them or keep track of the rest of the kids. 

“Hondje,” Theo giggled from behind you. “Hooooondje! Pancakes!”

You glare down at the little tyke. “I am not a puppy!”

Your fierce tone puts tears in his eyes and in a heartbeat, Vincent is there, hugging his brother. They are so adorable that you forget to be annoyed. “Alright, sorry for yelling at you, cutie,” you tell Theo. You ruffle his hair. “Let’s go make some pancakes.”

You snag Dazai off the windowsill before he can pull it open. “You too, you little prankster.” He giggles adorably and seems perfectly happy to watch the world from your hip.

Mozart follows along behind you, still looking annoyed that he had to leave his ‘instrument’ behind.

Isaac and Arthur stay at the table, where you can just see the tops of their little heads. You’d worry about leaving normal kids alone, even for the time it takes to cook some pancakes, but these are vampires-turned-kids. They’ll probably be fine. The dining room might not be, but that’s le Comte’s problem.

But . . . where was Will? You realize you haven’t seen him since you picked Arthur up. And if any one of these little devils is a danger on his own . . .

You carefully set Dazai down and pull the pancake batter ingredients out. You put them in one big bowl and hand Dazai, Mozart, Theo, and Vincent their own spoons. “Alright my big-littles, if we’re going to eat pancakes tonight, you have to stir.”

Vincent’s happy little face takes on a serious look as he plunges his spoon into the mix and begins to stir. Theo watches him for a moment before trying out his own batter-making skills. 

Mozart looks at the spoon and then at the batter. “No. Dirty.” He throws the spoon across the kitchen and crosses his arms. 

“Wolfie, come on. It’s not dirty. You don’t need to touch it with your hands.”

He turns his head and refuses to look at you. 

“Oh come on,” you sigh. “Fine. You can . . . supervise.” Which is a fantastic idea right up until Dazai tosses a handful of flour at Mozart. 

Mozart flings himself at Dazai and they begin to chase each other around the kitchen, Dazai laughing and Mozart snarling like an angry cat. 

“Good enough. You guys keep up the good work. I’ll be right back.” And off you go in search of Shakespeare. He isn’t in the dining room. Or in the entryway. But you notice a slight hazy smoke coming from the parlor. 

You poke your head into the room and damned if that’s not exactly where he is, trying to catch one of the heavy curtains on fire with a candle. “WILL!” You dash across the room and pull him, and the candle, away from the smoking curtain.

“William Shakespeare, what do you think you’re doing?!” Your tone is scarily reminiscent of your own mother and it makes you wince a little. But that doesn’t seem to have any effect on the tiny bard.

He grins up at you, his eyes sparkling. “Twagedy.” 

You can’t help but notice he’s missing both his front teeth. Kinda like a reverse bunny. “Tragedy, huh? If I catch you trying to burn down the mansion again, I’ll show you a real tragedy mister.” 

Rather than looking threatened, he seems excited by this. He nods his head. “Ok. Ok!” 

“Ah. No. I mean, I’ll show you a real tragedy only if you’re a good boy and you don’t try to burn down the mansion. Alright?”

Will scrunches his face up, as if thinking hard about this. Then he nods again. “Weal twagedy! Ok!”

You sigh and carry him to the dining room. Where Isaac is pulling apart a house plant and making little noises to himself. Arthur is nowhere to be seen, but judging by the sounds coming from the kitchen, you’re pretty sure where he went. 

You set Will down and throw open the door. Just in time to see Dazai and Arthur toss a canister of flour over Mozart. At least Theo and Vincent are being good, you think. 

Mozart, dusted white from head to toe, looks about two seconds from going full cage-fighter on the other two boys. You scoop him up and set him in the big sink. “Nope, no fighting Wolfie. We’ll just clean you up.”

You turn to look at Dazai and Arthur. “That was really mean, you two. Now he’s got to change clothes. You go get him something to wear. Now. Something clean!” You aren’t completely sure they understand, but they both walk in the direction you point. Hopefully they grab Mozart some clean clothes from the pile. Or at least, don’t find more trouble while you give him a mini-bath.

Just as you turn on the water, you hear Theo behind you. “Pancakes.” You turn and he’s staring at you, arms crossed. 

Vincent looks at you with huge, blue eyes. You swear they get bigger as they fix on you. “Pancakes?” He looks like he might cry.

“Yes, yes. I know. Pancakes.” You sigh. Mozart has stripped off his clothes and is trying to wash himself under the faucet. You put the plug in and add some soap for bubbles. Then step over to the stove to heat a griddle. Talk about multitasking! 

Will is watching all of this with keen interest. Hopefully it’s enough ‘twagedy’ to keep him occupied. 

Mozart manages not to drown himself in the sink while you cook, and wonder of wonders, Arthur and Dazai bring back clean clothes. The bright, chaotic colors and the tulle tutu are nothing Wolfie would normally wear, but hell, at least it’s clothing. 

You set a dripping Mozart on the floor with a towel and finish cooking. With the last pancake on the griddle, you decide to check the dining room - there’s a lot of noise coming from in there. When you poke your head out, you see Leonardo directing Jean and Napoleon in book placement. 

“A books!” He tells you proudly. 

Mozart in his plaid yellow jacket and pink tutu comes toddling out to see what’s going on. 

Leonardo covers his mouth at the sight and Jean just stares blankly. But Napoleon collapses in a fit of giggles. 

Mozart huffs and crosses his arms. 

You pat his fluffy white hair. You mean to comfort him, but it’s so soft you can’t help petting him more. Wolfie glares up at you but he doesn’t try to get away, so you figure he probably doesn’t hate it. 

“Thank you Leo. And ‘Leon. You too Jean. You are very good boys.” 

Leonardo gives you a wide, lazy smile that you swear is just like the one he wears when you catch him napping in weird places. 

Napoleon gets ahold of himself enough to give you a little bow. On his pudgy toddler self, it looks ridiculous but also endearing. 

You get the boys into their chairs, where thanks to the books, they can reach the table. Then you serve up the pancakes. This is about the point Sebas comes back, carrying a little blonde kid. One with astoundingly perceptive golden eyes.

“I see you found le Comte,” you sigh. If he’s a child too, what are the odds he can reverse this side effect of his little experiment?

Sebastian looks over the table of seated munching munchkins. “Good work with the boys. And yes, he was wandering the hall outside his laboratory.”

Le Comte turns to look up at him. “I was not wandering. I was walking to my study to fetch another set of research notes.” His voice is high and sweet, even though the words are quite adult.

“Does he remember everything then? He doesn’t sound like the others,” you ask Sebas.

“He seems to,” Sebastian confirms.

“He is right here,” le Comte interrupts. “And perfectly capable of answering questions himself. Myself. So yes - I remember everything. I know who and where I am, and what happened.”

It is so weird to hear those words from that cherubic little face. You reach over to pinch his little cheek. 

“Ma cherie . . . please . . .”

“Sorry. You’re just so cute like this.” You grin at him. How often do you get to see le Comte out of sorts after all? 

Sebastian clears his throat to get your attention. “He says there isn’t a way to reverse this, but that it should wear off.”

“When?”

“Based on my calculations, the effect is bound within the rule of threes. So if I extrapolate from the formula what the far edge of the continuum disturbance might be, I’m left with three options. It could evaporate within 9 hours, 9 days, or 9 months.”

While you aren’t sure what most of that means, you get the time frames. “So, wait. This could be over by morning or I could be stuck babysitting for NINE MONTHS?”

Sebastian grins at you and you swear he is enjoying this. But then, he’s not the one that spent the last two hours wrangling the little monsters. He looks over the table where the tiny-tot-vamps are fist to facing pancakes, well except for Mozart who is using his fork. “I don’t know why you’re complaining. You seem to have a talent for this.”

“Fine,” you grin. “I fed ‘em dinner, you get them ready for bed.” See how he likes chasing down the terror-tots for bath time, teeth-brushing, and pajamas!

Sebastian nods. You can tell by the glint in his eyes that he knows exactly what you’re trying to do. But he’s the world’s best butler and if he can handle this herd as adults, he’s sure he can handle them as children.

He claps his hands together to get their attention. Eleven little faces turn to look at him in unison. “It’s time to get ready for bed.” A chorus of whining little voices insist that in fact, they don’t need to sleep anytime soon, but Sebas is having none of it.

With another clap, he rounds the little vamps up and herds them out of the dining room, trailed by le Comte who looks like he wouldn’t mind going to bed right now at all.

You spend the next hour cleaning the kitchen and dining area. How such little people can make such big messes is beyond you, but this job is still easier than rounding them up for bathtime. You tiredly make your way out into the hall, only to see Sebas dragging himself out of the baths. 

His hair is mussed. His clothes are soaked. He has bubbles coming out of his ears. 

You try to hide a grin but can’t. 

“Help me,” he mouths silently as a mob of partially dressed boys appears behind him. 

Though it’s tempting to just walk on up to your room, you can’t leave a soul in need like that. Besides, Sebastian would definitely get revenge later. So you stop and smile at him sweetly, reaching out to snag Will as he tries to dart past you. 

“If you boys will put on your pajamas properly, I’ll read you a bedtime story,” you offer. 

“Twagedy?” Asks Will, tugging his arm out of your grip.

“Sure, hon. I’ll make it the saddest story ever read for toddlers.” 

He beams up at you with genuine pleasure in his mismatched eyes. 

Sebastian nearly cries with relief. He helps the boys finish tugging on their nightshirts and helps you gather them in the study. 

The little vampires pile onto the couch like puppies, except for Leonardo. He slumps onto the floor and begins to nod off while the others are still getting comfy. 

You look over the book selection. There’s not much here for kids. Sure, a treatise on combustion engines would probably put them to sleep - well, maybe not Isaac - but everyone else, yes. But it’s not very . . . kid friendly. Or, uh, tragic. Then your eyes light on an illustrated copy of The Ugly Duckling. Perfect.

You sit down on the couch in the midst of the boys. Theo snuggles to your left, and Arthur snuggles to your right. Dazai and Vincent sit on your lap, and you’ve got Mozart lounging on the back of the couch, peering over one shoulder, while Will does the same on your other side. Le Comte curls up on a pillow at the far end, next to Jean. Isaac claims his own spot on the opposite end. Napoleon sits across from you on Sebastian’s lap.

With all the boys accounted for, you begin to read them the tale of the ugly duckling. It doesn’t seem like the kind of story to put a crowd of little boys to sleep, but before you reach the last page, every single one of them is out like a light. Soft, even breathing and little snores fill the room. 

You look across to see if you can get Sebastian to help you carry the tykes to their room, but he’s fallen asleep too. As you look down at their sweet, sleeping faces, you think, it’d be a shame to wake them. So you get as comfortable as you can on the couch and in no time, you’re dozing off.

Dreams of baby vampires run through your mind. In one, you try to explain to your mother that none of these babies are actually yours, but she won’t believe you. In another, you push a giant stroller through Paris and lecture the tots on the architecture. It’s almost a relief when a surprised shout stirs you awake.

An adult Napoleon is mid-kiss with poor Sebas, who certainly didn’t mean to wake him. Leonardo laughs from his spot on the floor. A grown up, full bellied laugh. That’s about the point you realize Arthur and Theo are also back to their adult selves, their heads still pillowed on your lap. Dazai and Vincent are snuggled to your chest, looking quite pleased. You jump to your feet, nearly knocking them to the floor. 

Mozart loses his balance and falls off the back of the couch, and Jean leaps away from le Comte as if burned. Dazai is chuckling and muttering something about one hell of a good joke, while Isaac looks deeply disturbed. 

“What happened,” Will asks, sounding dazed. 

“It’s better not to ask,” you reply and head to your room to sleep off this weirdest of new year’s eves.

#Ikemen Vampire #IkeVamp #new years 2021 #better late than never #fanfic #fanfiction #otome #otome boys #fluff #silliness

[peeterparkr]

perfidy;tom holland|8

chapter 8: the focus

enemies to lovers au/enemies with benefits

chapter summary: y/n’s fears and tom’s thoughts. 

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings:  swearing, alcohol mention, drama

word count: 6.7k 

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How wonderful is it that life makes us coincide with people. How wonderful is it that two people with all of the odds of never seeing each other find each other. How amazing is it that two people can feel absolutely everything. How incredible is it that two people can fall in love? 

How stupid was it that she had to make that person be Tom. 

Y/N was currently debating to herself: did she really want to go there? 

She stared at the blank document in front of her. She typed in some letters but there was something bothering her. She’d written a few pages already but this really wasn’t where she wanted to go with. She held her coffee in between her hands as she tried not to squint at the bright screen. She’d put on some big white t-shirt that was hanging around as some

shorts. She’d already taken a pill to help with the headache but there really wasn’t any pill that could soothe her morals. Or her heart for that matter.

And there was no pill that could calm down her thoughts. Because she had felt that spark in her eyes, that stupid smile and that gentle butterflying in her stomach. Sure, she could blame the alcohol but she really knew she couldn’t. 

And it came back to that night, the yellow flowers. 

She remembered how it felt. The heartbreak, the last one she’d experienced.  How hard she’d fallen into that very dark place. How vocal she had been about it when being alone. 

Having to pretend everything was okay because she was not supposed to be in love with him and how she was not supposed to care about him. How she had to swallow up her feelings but come home to tear herself apart. 

How much her stomach hurt and how barely she could sleep. How she couldn’t talk. How she’d break down in random moments, in the shower, in the bus. and at school and pretend it was something else. Blame it on everything. 

How disappointed she was. How nothing made sense. How she’d cry until she fell asleep, but she didn’t sleep at all. Waking up in the middle of the night to think about everything, to call herself a fool for even coming up with it. Losing her breath. How she would need to scream to her pillow. How somehow she’d lost a bit of herself with him. 

How the days had turned grey, so grey and so long, nights seemed too short and if they ever came the moon would only get ever so brightly to wash her body to keep her awake. How she had cried so much she’d run out of tears. 

How she’d changed her style. How she’d try to be more feminine. Or how she tried to comb her hair in a different way. Or her makeup. Change herself. How she had tried to change her personality. . How she couldn’t know why he couldn’t love her. What was wrong? her perfume? The lipstick? Was it her music taste? 

What was wrong with her? Why did he hate her that much? 

The thought would remain on her head for hours and hours. Days and nights. Weeks. Months. Years. 

How she had isolated and found comfort in movies, and scenes and brightened up her day. But they didn’t make any sense, at all. Nothing did. Not even her favorite song or her favorite movie. 

How nothing would make her smile. And how she’d listen to sad songs to make herself sadder and how she had to deal seeing him parade around and keep mocking her. How she had to keep on an act. Keep ok with a life when she had been so broken-hearted. How she had given so much and it hadn’t been enough. 

How hard it had been because everything simply would bring it back. Like a random song on the radio, a movie scene or a book. And how hard it was seeing him everywhere, and how she had had to block his name from coming up. How she had to distance herself from his family, his friends. Her friends and her family. 

How no one knew. And no one could know. What did she win by saying a man had screwed her over? What would she win by saying that man had been Tom? 

She’d cried for a complete month, even more. Her tears had dried out.  Not knowing if she was crying out of pain because he’d hurt her or she was crying out of self pity, because what a fool had she been. 

Because she knew, she had warned herself. That he was a rock. That Tom would never love her, that he hated her. She was well aware that he had a stone cold soul, that his heart was not reachable. Not for her, at least. 

She knew he was poison, she knew he was the devil in disguise, that he was no angel. That he’d break her. 

And yet, she’d fallen in love with him. But that’s what she got for ignoring her own advice. She remembered the day she’d promised herself she would stop trying. 

All because of yellow flowers. 

She stared at the script she started and she thought about it: she couldn’t go through another heartbreak caused by Tom.  She couldn’t go again through it, she couldn’t cry mid workouts, and she couldn’t shut her thoughts. How dumb she had felt, and how much it simply hurt. She needed to have her heart locked up, she couldn’t let herself feel anything. 

And she didn’t. She really didn’t. She didn’t want to be hurt again. Because the last time he broke her heart, he broke her completely. 

Maybe he didn’t know about it. No one did, really. Each heartbreak had been different. With Tom, there was a constant. She had to be quiet about her pain. Even when she wanted to scream and yell, she couldn’t let him know he’d won. No one could know that she was crying over him. No one could know about her frustration.

It made her nauseous thinking about it. She couldn’t go back to that place. But she needed him to go through it. 

But even after the darkest storm, the sun comes out. She’d met Timmy. And he had saved her from drowning. Even after the drought. Even if it had been a crime. 

Because Timmy showed her that she could be loved for being herself. Because Timmy loved every aspect that made her. From the way she liked to let the tears dry on their own or how she always had post-it’s hanging around for her notes. Because Timmy loved that y/n liked to watch the vinyl roll as it played, and because Timmy loved the way she’d run out of breath whenever she laughed. 

With Timmy, she’d stare at windows and enjoy walks in the rain. It was calm. And she was breathing again. even underwater She didn’t have to worry about her makeup, or anything.  Timmy had shown her how to love herself. Maybe that’s why he was still hanging on the Polaroids. Because he had learned to love her when she was down and he managed to pull her up. 

Not that Tom had ever told her anything about herself but y/n with her complicated mind, only could wonder why he hated her. Why did the person she’d loved the most hated her so ardently? Why couldn’t he love her? Why wasn’t she enough? 

Timmy had taught her something, loving is simple. Timmy had taught her she was enough. 

She was more frustrated this time, not only would she get hurt if he didn’t fall in love with her but she’d have no script. Still, she was writing, 

Eventually,  he finally walked into the kitchen bare chested, he’d wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her shoulder, her neck and finally ended on her cheek. She’d been quick to close the document and then stared at him, and expected him to throw in something that would break her again. Hadn’t she met Timmy she’d probably already be crying. But maybe she’d built up a shield so high that she wouldn’t be bothered by him anymore. Even if she felt the pain on her chest. 

“Morning,” he sheepishly said as he continued to pepper her neck with kisses. 

“I made you coffee,” she whispered as she closed her MacBook. 

“Sh, you’re being too loud,” he nuzzled into her neck. “I’m never drinking wine again.” 

She chuckled. “Here ,” she pushed a box of aspirins towards him. “I wasn’t going to give you anything, thought it’d be a good way to attack my enemy. But I guess, having some pity is a benefit we should have.” 

He grabbed the pill and then chuckled as he searched for his water, he downed two glasses before he took the pill. 

“Your fans have made their way to my Instagram, by the way, haven't checked any of the notifications and I really don’t want to,” she admitted. 

“Sorry.” 

She didn’t say anything. She waited for him to speak, to destroy her and somehow make her insecure again. Even if the glance he was giving her could make anyone believe he liked her, she was just waiting to be stabbed. 

“You have a lot of Polaroids,” he commented. 

“Not all of them are actually Polaroids but I edited some and printed them out, they’re important,” she mentioned. 

He raised his brows. “What is the importance of them?” As he sipped from the bitter coffee. 

“Moments, memories, things that made me who I am,” she shrugged. 

“And Timmy made you who you are today?” He chuckled. 

She watched him. “In many ways, yes.”

He scrunched his nose. “So you’re not taking them off?” 

“Why would I?” She questioned as she reached over to the cookies she’d baked the day before, pulling the plate towards her.

“You broke up,” Tom pushed. “You should hate him.” 

“I don’t hate him, besides even if I did. Wouldn’t take him off. I hate you and you’re up there.” 

“You have the worst pictures of me,” he pointed out. 

“I know,” she smirked. “But you’re up there... even if I don’t like to admit it, Tom, you’re a very important part of my life.”

“Am I?”

She looked at him. “I grew up with you. Yes.”

“What would make you take a picture off?” 

“I’ve taken some off for some time,”she admitted. “But it meant that I really, really didn’t want to see their face.”

“What’s your favorite picture there?”he grinned. 

She smiled to herself. “I’ll show you,” she said as she headed back to her room. He followed her with curiosity. She looked up for the picture, one of Tim’s, the one with the raincoat as he’s looking up in the rain. 

He rolled his eyes. “Why?”

“What?” She frowned. 

“Why this one with Tim. I see all these pictures and some of them, I know you were the happiest.”

“It’s the moment I knew I was truly, madly deeply in love with him,” she explained as she sat down on her bed again. The moment she was finally breathing again. 

“The moment you knew? Look, I… I think love is something gradual, there’s not a moment that you wake up one day and realize you’re in love.” 

“No, but there is a moment you realize it,” she pointed out. 

He frowned, sitting beside her. “When you realize it?”

“Yes, it’s like that climax point in a movie, it was that one with Tim,” she stared at the picture. The way he was smiling, the way the rain covered him down.

Tom leaned over to see it. “Really?”

“You know those scenes in movies when everything just… makes sense as they’re perfect?” She smiled. “How even though there is probably a lot going on, the lights are hitting the main character perfectly, the focus is only on them,  and how the music is subtly playing just building up the emotion, and how their own feelings fade in, maybe a close up, and you know it as everything falls into place.”

He frowned comprehensively. “Right.”

“Well, that day…. I felt it, I saw it, and he was that focus and I knew it. I was so in love with him.”

“When was this?” 

“It was autumn.”

He chuckled. 

“Don’t laugh,” you wanted. 

“No, I won’t, sorry. It’s cause I hardly believe you could feel something as inspiring… with Timothée,” he pronounced his name with such venom. 

She ignored him. “We had been walking around, it was a date and I remember holding his arm, it was cold and it was raining just slightly,  but we would go to this tea house…”

“Did you get pneumonia?”

She rolled her eyes. “and we were heading to this library first but it started to rain harder but...everything fell into place, we tried to run for a place to cover ourselves but then… something magical happened as if it was straight out of a movie,” she grinned. “a guy opened his balcony window and started to play the cello… You know that Bach song everyone knows?” She grinned. 

Tom blinked. 

“And I found cover under a perfume shop’s shade and I called for him but he was… too entranced by it,  I remember he looked up to the guy in his balcony and he just smiled…and he called me out to go in the rain with him, and I had to take a picture because the look in his eyes and… the way he was the main character…I just knew it then. I was so in love with him.” 

And even if she wasn’t raining, she had finally found a way out to breath. 

Tom cleared his throat. “You’re too poetic sometimes.” 

“Well haven’t you ever felt it? I know you’ve been in love,” she pointed out. 

“Yes but it’s never worked out,” he clenched his jaw. “And it didn’t work out for you either.”

“A break up doesn’t necessarily mean it didn’t work out,” she debated. 

“Well mine didn’t.” 

“Why is that?” 

“I don’t… I… look, that conversation is definitely not included in our benefits,” he scowled as he stood up searching for his phone. 

“Sorry I thought since I told you—“

“You thought wrong,” he grunted. 

She closed her eyes. “Of course.” 

The doorbell rang just in time to make this less awkward, she left her room as he plopped down back on the bed to stare at his phone. 

There needed to be a way to know what had him falling in love, of course that would take a while. Maybe a little more wine, get him all turned on again and he’d be spilling it all. 

But  she walked to the door, it ran again, triggering her headache. 

“Coming!” 

She slightly opened the door to see who was there, and little did she expect… him. She almost fainted as she saw his pretty face, with his curls falling down his green perfect eyes, as his hands held pastel colored flowers. 

“Oh my god,” were the only words that had come out. “Tom—I mean… TIMMY!” 

“Y/N!” He started but y/n closed the door. “Y/N?” He called out again. 

And she remembered, they had agreed on having brunch together. She cursed under her her breath every possible bad word she knew. 

She opened the door again to see a confused Timothée. 

He frowned, “y/n.” 

Then she cleared her throat. “Give me a sec—“

“Y/N—“

But she’d closed the door again and rushed to pick up any trace of last night, then she ran to her room to see a half naked Tom with his cup of coffee, scrolling through his phone. She threw his clothes at him.

“Hey!” He complained. 

“Shut up!” 

“Who was it—“

“Sh!” She jumped slightly in frustration. “It’s Timmy.” 

“Timmy.” 

“Oh my god, he can’t know,” she chirped. “I—“

“What is he doing here?” 

“I’m having brunch with him and then we’d go together to Harry’s…”

“He’s coming?” Tom frowned.

“Emma invited him,” she was so nervous.”but oh my god he can’t know about this so you’re going to stay quiet and hide.” 

“C’mon y/n—“he laughed, “why can’t he know?”

“You want me to tell your brothers and friends too?” 

“No—“

“Then?” 

“Fine, I’ll stay here. I’ll be quiet.” He frowned. “But why are you going out with him?” 

“It’s—my business, and I don’t think asking those kind of questions are included in our… benefits,” she searched in for some clothes, picking out a pretty dress. “now I’m gonna go let him in and I’m going to take a shower and I need you to—“

“Is that an invitation?” He asked with a smirk. 

“No, you’re ugly,” she answered. “And I need you to stay here quietly.” 

“C’mon babe,” he laughed. 

She shot him a death glare and threw a pillow at him, “shut up!” 

“What was that For?” 

“Keep quiet.” 

“Babe,” he grabbed her arm.

“Fellow associate,” she frowned as she watched him. 

He only pulled her over to kiss her. She didn’t kiss him back. 

He blinked as he pulled away. “Hey.” 

“Keep quiet.” 

He rolled his eyes, watching her leave the room, closing the door. 

He then heard her: “Timmy! Hi, sorry I’m… you can come in, sorry, I uh… I’ll be quick alright?” 

“Yeah, of course—Uh, These are for you.” 

“They’re beautiful, Tim, thank you… now uh, I… you can hang around here in the kitchen if you want to—I’ll just take a shower“

“Yeah,’course—“

Tom rolled his eyes, as he mimicked Timmy. He was fumed. Disgusted. 

Tom could hear the water running now from the shower. Y/n’s apartment was very small, that made it cute but it was very small that there was no wonder why she had asked him to stay quiet. 

“So, y/n.” Tom heard Timmy say. “Busy night?” 

Tom smirked to himself. 

“Hm?” Y/N answered. “Not really! Very calm actually!” 

Tom frowned. 

”really?” Timmy pushed. “I saw Tom was here.”

Tom frowned. How did he know?

“How did you—Yeah he came for dinner, nothing special we went over his schedule.” 

“With wine?” Timmy asked. 

“You really think I would stand him without it?” Y/N yelled back with a laugh. “But he was long gone.” 

“And then you got drunk by yourself—“

“I—what?” Y/N asked. 

Tim laughed, “you posted a… very nice picture.” 

“I—what?” 

Tom frowned as he went straight to Instagram. And he saw it, the picture he had very well snapped of y/n. She posted it. Of course Tom was nowhere in sight but if people connected the dots… of course people would think stuff. Thankfully, Tom knew, Harry probably was at Emma’s, and he hadn’t noticed that Tom hadn’t slept home. But Harrison. 

He’d have to deal with Harrison. 

“Aaaah,” y/n said. “What did I post? I actually did get very drunk by myself…” 

Tim didn’t answer. 

Tom cursed under his breath. He had to leave now, because he didn’t really need to give an explanation to Harrison. Haz probably already was up. Did Harrison know he was not home yet? 

Tom even stopped listening to the awkward banter between y/n and Tim. He didn't care anymore. He had his own reasons to freak out. And y/n and Timmy started a very dumb conversation. Even if it wasn’t, Tom was annoyed by Timothee.

Even if the guy had done nothing wrong. But Tom did have his reasons to hate him. Being bloody perfect for y/n was the biggest reason, of course. And that y/n was so smitten with him. If y/n ever looked at him the way she stared at Timothee, and if she listened the way she listened to Tim, Tom would never ever be able to say he hated her. 

Tom didn’t even realize when y/n had walked into the room, also freaking out about the picture. 

“We need some damage control,” that’s all she said before handing him the keys to her apartment so he’d close it up. 

Before Tom knew it he was quietly walking into his place, with his t-shirt stained with wine, and probably stained with the infamous walk of shame. Tom was praying to himself that he wouldn’t see Harrison. And he thanked everything in existence that Harry had stayed at Emma’s and that the party would be at her place so there was no reason as to why Harry would know. 

Tom quietly tiptoed his way in but little did he know he was expected. 

“Good morning!” Harrison greeted him. 

“I—went to my—car.” 

“Are you gonna tell me you went to your car which clearly wasn’t here all night? And probably was at y/n’s just like you were.”

“No-uh.” 

“Amazing walk of shame you’ve got going on there,” Harrison sassed. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on? Or are you gonna invent something like y/n did last time and claimed she watched porn? Did you watch porn at her place now?” Haz smirked as he took a sip of the tea he had in his hand. 

Tom was screwed. He couldn’t lie to his best friend.

“I—“

“Nice t-shirt, is it designer?” Haz chuckled. “Is it by the same designer of y/n’s glass of wine in her last picture?” 

“It’s nothing—“

“Is it really nothing?” Haz laughed. “Just like the fact that when I was on set I might have seen you sneak a kiss on her cheek?,” Haz smirked. “I didn’t mention it but I might as well do it right now before you come up with any stupid excuses.” 

“I—“

“We ain’t got all day, Tom,”Haz insisted. 

Tom squinted. “It’s nothing—“

“Nothing?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” 

Harrison frowned. “Sit down, Thomas. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” 

Tom had to sit down and deal with the pounding headache he was facing not only because of the alcohol he had had last night but now because he really had no excuse to give to Harrison.

“So?” Haz crossed his arms. 

“I… well.” 

“You slept with her, we both know that,” Haz sassed. 

“I…. did.” Tom cleared his throat. 

Haz expected him to elaborate. 

“Twice,” Tom continued. “Yeah, once when… a few weeks ago, and… well last night.” 

“How did it—“

“The first time?” Tom gulped. “I may have… hinted at it, I think it just… led to it. We made out in the car and we’d been flirting all night. And… we have… we have been having this whole game I dunno, when we were teasing each other, and I don’t know… we made out a few more times but… last night, we were talking about everything, we had had dinner, we had laughed, and then I just kissed her and it escalated and—I dunno it just happened.” 

“Just happened.” 

“And… well, I don’t know, we agreed on being enemies with benefits.” 

“What even is that?” 

“Means that we can continue hating each other but we get to fuck I guess,” Tom looked away. “Sounds stupid don’t even know why I accepted it.” 

Haz raised his brows. “Well… why did you?” 

“I just did.” Tom gulped. 

Harrison frowned. “Your brother was bloody in love with her and you hate her,” he said condescendingly. “Tom this is—“

“What if I don’t?” 

“You don’t—what?” 

Tom stood up. “I’m very bloody aware he was in love with her but he’s with Emma now. And I’m spending time with y/n… and we are both single and so far the sex has been great.” 

“I guess it’s not a crime Tom, but this is insane…You hate her.”

“I don’t alright?” Tom admitted, he was sweating. “I’ve been bloody in love with her my whole fucking life and now I… Harry moved on.” 

Harrison watched him. “Well that’s… such a turn of events.” 

“Yes I loved her okay? Is it that big of a crime?” Tom scoffed. “And I—I also do hate her because I wasn’t supposed to love her alright?” Tom rubbed his face. “I never wanted to hurt Harry and okay, had she been in love with Harry instead of me…”

“She loved you at some point, didn’t she?” 

“When we were younger, just a crush,” Tom continued, well aware that y/n had told him only last night that he had been her first love. “But I hated her because I…”

“You hate her and you’re in love with her.” 

“I hate her because I shouldn’t be in love with her, not when my brother loves her too and he deserves her, and she deserves someone like him. Someone who treated her right, who didn’t bother her to get her attention.” 

Harrison watched him, curiously. He was slightly shocked but not really. “I’m… this isn’t.” 

“And look, maybe it’s stupid but Harry moved on and now she’s not dating that stupid Timothee—and I thought hey this might be my chance, but the only problem is still Timothée, that dumb man.” 

“You don’t have to come for Tim-“

“But look, she’s not over him, she literally woke up, and left to have breakfast with him—“

Haz watched him. “You’ve literally treated her so badly her entire life—“

“I know, I've been an asshole my whole life, I guess I tried to make her fall in love with Harry instead,” Tom sighed. “Look, I know she’ll never be able to—I noticed it, she doesn’t look at me the way she—God, just this morning when she saw a picture of Timothée, her eyes lit up, he’s her bloody everything.” 

Harrison watched him. “But you’re in love with her.” 

“Yes and I know I can’t—I know I can’t have her because I have fucked up so many times and if I did do anything, Harry would be devastated even if he’s over her…” I can at least have this, this whole enemies with benefits bullshit.”

Harrison watched him. “And would you try anything else?” 

Tom sighed, “maybe,” he coughed. “But it’s—when I’ve kissed her, she—I know she doesn't feel anything.” 

“Do you? Have you shown her?” 

“I don’t know how, and this—this has only been full of lust and I know… this doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to feel like alright? It feels like we are in a place where we only want to hurt each other.” 

“Hurt each other? Don’t you love her?” 

“It’s a matter of habit, I guess…” Tom gulped. “Old habits that didn’t wear out. It’s in my nature I guess.” 

His friend stayed quiet, trying to process the information he was just given. 

“Well change,” Haz said. “If you love her—“

“I won’t. I’m okay with this,” Tom lied. He cleared his throat. “But look Harry can’t know because even if he doesn’t know I love her he’ll think I’m just using her and if he knew I loved her  he’d encourage me to try something and in any way that’ll break his heart…”

Harrison rolled his eyes. “I won’t tell anyone,” Haz sighed. “But Tom you’re just playing with something that—I don’t know man, maybe try something?” 

“Why?” 

“Harry wouldn’t mind if he knew you dated her, he’d mind if he knew you were doing this,” Haz pushed. 

“But she won’t—give in,” Tom sighed. “I know.” Tom paused. “I know but… maybe I’ll just… I’m just scared that all my life I’ve told her that she’s always found a way to make every wrong decision and I know I’m just another one, alright? I’m another mistake she’s making.” 

Harrison raised a brow. 

“Gee, I’ve been talking too much with her. I'll be getting all poetic like her but—I know that Timmy or Harry would be right for her but I really don’t want her to see that. I want her to choose the wrong option. I am the wrong option here.” 

Harrison watched her. “I don’t know man, just be careful because you might end up hurting several people in here… now go get dressed and presentable, we need to head to Harry’s party.” 

-

Somehow telling Harrison had not soothed any of his thoughts. Because Tom knew this was a wrong turn and that anything that would lean on from this. He was incredibly confused. 

Tom knew that he’d hurt y/n in very many ways, sometimes he’d meant it, some others, mostly he hadn’t. But we can understand that love is so complicated. He had never seen her cry in front of him, not really. Sure he knew that she was hurt but she always looked back like saying; you'll get my revenge. Maybe she had been incredibly good at hiding it or maybe she’d never been hurt at all. 

Just as they continued to grow up y/n would show less and less importance to Tom. Even this morning when she’d refused to kiss him back, as if saying you’re not going to win this one. 

And Tom wanted to prove her wrong. He wanted to show her how a real kiss should taste like, and he wanted her to choose a different path. Because he saw y/n had always been struggling while climbing up the same tree. The same songs. Stuck in a place where she wouldn’t get out of. 

But that made her. All the small details. when you’ve been in love with someone you notice the little details that make a person. 

Maybe Tom wanted to show her a different part. And maybe he had just by last night having genuine fun with her. Not meaning about sex of course, but everything else. 

The way he had heard her run out of breath from laughter or the way she had offered him a spoonful of the cookie dough. So simple. So real.

Love is strange. Because what Tom hadn’t told Harrison was that Tom was also waiting to be stabbed. He was also waiting y/n to betray him. And y/n could hurt him more, because she had also been so good at hurting him. 

Because y/n had hurt him too. Not in the ways one would expect it. But also in the same way that he couldn’t really look at yellow flowers anymore. Because he’d regretted it and she had shut him out. And… he couldn’t be thinking about that. 

Not when she was standing right in front of him, with her hair flowing as she laughed so melodically. The light was hitting her just in the spot. Everyone in the party was moving but she was the only focus. Her floral dress matched her pink lipsticks. Pink lips. Everything around her had stopped. She was the only spotlight needed, even if Timothee, Emma and Harry were laughing with her. They went silent to Tom

They were laughing at the cookies y/n had made, with the flower petals she’d put on. The aesthetic had been more important. 

And Tom had to look away because he was staring too long. And he’d been transported back to a few months ago, when Tim and Y/N were still a thing. And just seeing them made Tom realize that they probably still were. Not dating but this… 

It hurt. It hurt knowing he wasn’t the right choice. Yet… y/n looked up just once and gave him that stare. The kind where she basically undressed him with a glance.

He wondered how she was feeling because she had been, even if she was laughing, she had been extremely weird. 

Though Tom had only had one same thought the whole day. He needed to buy a Polaroid. But that was the least he should care about. Because his brother had ignored him, all day long. 

And y/n had arrived with Timothée, and she had been laughing all this time. And Tim had given him a weird look, but Timothee had been so cocky this evening as if he knew a secret that Tom didn’t. 

But y/n and Tom were normal, mocking each other, rolling their eyes at each other and acting like usual. Nothing to suspect there. But y/n had kept on a little game, if she ever walked behind Tom she’d brush a hand on his lower back, or the way she’d sometimes stop and look at him, biting her lip slightly. 

She was driving him crazy. 

Sam had asked Tom about y/n’s night, and Haz had stepped in. 

“Yeah, y/n must have been so tired of Tom that she probably had to black out to forget them, Tom came home pretty early.” 

And everyone was around Harry and Emma couldn’t take her eyes off of him. They would miss him. 

But Harry had been quiet. Harry hadn’t looked at Tom. He had talked to anyone else but Tom. Was he angry? 

Tom walked over to Harry, Emma, and Tuwaine. 

Tim, Haz and Y/N were talking to some other friends of them. 

“I thought they had broken up,” Tom commented with poison as he eyed them. 

“They’re still friends,” Emma commented, “and if we are honest they’re gonna get back together any time soon.” 

“Wouldn't say that,” Tom insisted. 

“You wouldn’t?” Harry wondered. “Did she say that at your dinner last night?”

Tuwaine laughed. “I’m impressed you guys haven’t killed each other by now.” 

Emma laughed, “I don’t know how y/n is dealing with it, my girl, she is so strong, having her ex and her worst enemy in the same room…” 

Tuwaine scrunched his nose. “Poor y/n.” 

Harry chuckled. “Yes.” 

“But they…” Tuwaine watched them. “They seem like they’re alright.” 

“I don’t really understand why they broke up. They’re so perfect together,” Harry agreed, watching them. 

Emma shrugged. “Dunno, and besides this whole best friends dating each other best friends was amazing.” 

Tom coughed. “Right.” 

“But no, I’m sad to tell you,”Harry chuckled. “I know y/n, and she’s…”Harry gulped. “Let’s say they’re not at the same place you and I are,” Harry grinned as he kissed Emma. “God, I love you.”

Tuwaine and Tom gave each other a glance and decided to walk away. They truly didn’t want to be in their way.

Tom wondered if Harry was so in love with Emma why had it bothered him that he had had dinner with y/n? What bothered him? Emma was so in love with him. And Harry was so in love with her. Emma was like… anything Harry had wished for.

But the party continued.

And Tom and Tuwaine ended up talking about the movie, about Tuwaines life and about everything that was going on. 

But Tom kept looking at how Timothee hadn’t left y/n’s side. 

“It’s not me, right? Tim is extremely annoying,” Tom pointed out. 

Tuwaine laughed. “What? The guy’s a sweetheart.” 

“He’s not, he’s boring, and—“Tom rolled his eyes as he saw everyone laughing exactly at something Timothee had said. “And he's really not handsome.”

Tuwaine frowned. “I dunno about that, I just know he’s too… what was the word y/n used? Dreamy.” 

“He wouldn’t appear in dreams, he’s a nightmare,” Tom scoffed. “What did he see in him?” 

“I don’t know,” Tuwaine chuckled. “I—why are you asking me this?” 

Harrison approached them. “What are we talking about?” 

“Why Tim is so dreamy,” Tuwaine laughed. “Look at his eyes,” Tuwaine chanted laughing. 

Haz glanced behind him and then raised his brows at Tom. “Really?” 

“I’m just curious.” 

“Probably because he treated her like he was the only girl in the room and he looks at her so nicely and he hasn’t broken her heart multiple times and he’s not an asshole, and doesn’t constantly mock her,” Haz sassed. 

“What?” Tuwaine laughed. “That sounds so specific.” 

Haz laughed. “I know.” 

Tom rolled his eyes as he turned to y/n again and she locked her sight with him and then slightly motioned away. She excused herself from her friends and headed to the restroom, Tom waited for a decent amount of time before heading after her.

He knocked on the door, “it’s me.” 

Y/n opened it and before checking it was cleared she dragged him inside, locking the door. 

“How’s that damage control going?” She asked him. 

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. “Hi.” 

“Thomas, not the time,” she rolled her eyes, but her hands landed on his chest anyway. “What did you do with Haz?”

He scrunched his nose. “He didn’t notice,” he lied. 

“Good, Tommy—I mean,” she blinked, “Timmy did ask but I told him a lie.”

“Don’t you ever dare confuse me with him again,” Tom threatened. 

She smirked. “Or what?”

Tom pushed her up against the wall, “or else…” his lips connected with her neck. She instantly closed her eyes. 

But someone knocked on the door and y/n instantly pushed him away. 

“Uh… coming!” Tom said. 

“What?” Y/n mouthed. 

“Oh okay, sorry!” It was Harry. Tom and y/n panicked. “Hey Tom, did you see y/n?” 

“No I didn't, why would I? I’m in the bathroom man, and I’m definitely not up for a conversation,” Tom snapped. 

“Right, sorry, I’ll… should I call her?” Harry asked.

“No, no man…” 

And y/n quickly pulled out her phone and silenced it before anything else could go wrong. 

“I—Tom, actually can you come out already? I need to talk to you.” 

“Man. I’m kind of… busy,” Tom said again. Tom licked his lips, as he then pointed to the shower. 

“What?” Y/N mouthed again. 

“Hide there,” Tom whispered. 

Y/N frowned but got into the shower and hid behind the curtains. 

Tom washed his hands and walked out to face his brother, closing the door. 

“What?” Tom wondered. 

“What happened last night?” Harry asked.

Tom cleared his throat. “I went to y/n’s place, had dinner, we discussed the schedule and that’s it.” 

“Tom, don’t play with her,” Harry begged him.

“What?” Tom frowned. 

Harry took a deep breath. “Look… I… we both know you guys have your relationship but I really don’t want you hurting her anymore, okay?” 

“I’m not—doing anything.” 

“Tom but you know how she used to feel about you,” Harry pushed. “I don’t want you messing her up anymore because okay, if you make her cry once again I’m not gonna be there and—“

“Harry, Harry, Harry, I genuinely am not going to do anything to hurt her, things have changed okay, we are… kind of friends.” 

Harry sighed. “Fine—I am just worried okay?” 

“Yes okay.” 

Harry cleared his throat. “Well I’m—“he pointed to the bathroom. 

“Aaa—-ahhh, hey good luck there Harry! Going into the bathroom! Good for you! What are you—what are you doing there?”

“Peeing, thanks for asking.” Harry scowled. 

“GOOD LUCK IN THE RESTROOM WHILE YOU PEE!” Tom yelled again.

Harry frowned and punched Tom in the shoulder, but got there anyway. 

Tom chuckled to himself, before taking out to text y/n, warning her. 

But before he knew it y/n had come back to the living room and glared at him. 

They gathered up to say their goodbyes, and good luck to Harry. It really wasn’t sentimental, maybe only coming from Sam and Tom, wishing their brother their best good and congratulating him. It was just people happily giving their advice and nice words. 

“Thanks to everyone I—this is very nice coming from all of you,” Harry chuckled as he was looking at Emma. “Uh—well, tomorrow it’s completing a dream one and—I… but my dream wouldn’t be complete without Emma here, my love.” 

Emma grinned as she stood up, taking Harry’s hand. 

“Well we have another announcement,” Harry said nervously. “Well uh—“

“We’re engaged!” Emma announced showing her hand up as a big ring was adorning her hand.

“What?” Was the only word that was spreading around the room. 

And suddenly the focus was only on that ring. 

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